Forged Books
by ElnaKernor
Summary: One-shots and first chapters: 3) Neal never existed. Team Castle are here to get Bryce back. 4) Bryce died, and Neal became a ghost, to Peter's dismay. 5) First chapter of Stronghold of seven 6) Keller had no idea who he was threatening, did he? 7) Ghost!Neal and Peter run into Carmichael Industries on a case 8) Chuck sees Bryce Larkin in New York, and there's nothing else to say
1. Listen, because I won't say it twice

_This is a collection of crossover of one-shots, and later on first chapters of longer stories, between White Collar and Chuck, which will mostly be centered on Neal/Bryce, because obsession oblige._

 _So, Neal being Bryce, sure, but let it be said I'm more of a Bryce-is-Neal girl than a Neal-is-Bryce girl, if you get my meaning... There might also be a few twins stories, of course, because nothing prevents me from doing that too._

* * *

 _Neal got drugged while in the clinic, we all know that. He said a bunch of things to Peter while high, we know that too._  
 _What we didn't know, was that he still had a few things to say once they got out of the clinic._

* * *

 **Listen, because I won't say it twice**

When Peter found Neal, Neal was high. Which was as odd a sight as Peter thought he'd ever see, considering Neal Caffrey was one of the most healthy criminals he had ever seen. Not only was he naturally in perfect health, he also didn't dabble in anything addicting.

Except coffee and wine, but in considerate quantities.

So, when Peter finally found Neal in the private clinic where Neal wasn't supposed to be, but still was, it was with the unexpected fact that Neal had been strapped on a hostpital bed and drugged, as if he was one of the mental patients.

Which was better than finding him dead, but still.

If a drugged Neal seemed more than able to slip out of his straps, he was also very, very talkative, and it wasn't the moment to be. Peter needed to get Neal out of here before anything happened.

Or, before anyone found them.

Peter Burke did not want to explain why his CI had infiltrated himself into a private clinic they were investigating for organs trafficking, without authorization.

Peter managed to get Neal out of the office he was "held" in, but not quite out of the clinic. At one point, the FBI agent had to go and look for a safe exit. He didn't leave Neal alone for very long, but when he came back, and supported Neal out, his CI seemed to be even more in the mood to "trust" him with some of his secrets. Peter sure hoped it had nothing to do with other heists he had no proof of, because even if Neal wasn't in full control of his capacities, and so his confessions held no value, Peter'd rather keep his plausible deniability.

They finally got out of the clinic, and Peter heaved his almost inconscious CI onto a bench so that he'd be able to call Jones and see if anything else had happened while he was busy with rescuing Neal. Then he'd get his drugged friend back home for him to rest. And after that, when Neal would be there with him, for real, Peter would lecture the man for doing whatever he pleased.

But Neal didn't seem to be on board with that plan, and not nearly half as well on his way to inconciousness as Peter had thought, because the CI tugged at Peter's sleeve as the agent tried to call Jones.

"Wait, Peter... I want to tell you how thankful I am for working with you... And..."

"You'll tell me later, when you are out of it, Neal."

"No! ...When I'm out of it, I won't... want to tell you... because I'm not supposed to, you know."

"You're not supposed to tell me you enjoy working with me?"

Neal hummed and closed his eyes. For a moment, Peter thought he had finally fallen asleep, but no such luck. Peter really needed to ask why Neal was so resistant to the drugs, how he could withstand it for so long, even if he didn't seem to be able to fight it off completely. This wasn't normal, especially not with Neal's backstory.

"...You know, I didn't think it'd be this... fun... to work for my country again..."

Again? What was Neal talking about?

"I mean, really... I loved my work back then too... but there were many times it wasn't fun at all... The guns especially were no fun... And I didn't like being... being shot... Twice... Dying was no fun... I mean, flat line on the monitor and everything... both time, you know, Peter? ...But here, working for the FBI... I won't get shot again... Right, Peter? I won't get killed again..."

Peter was growing increasingly worried. He didn't know if he should believe what Neal was telling him right now, under the influence of drugs, or if it was only something he was making up. Eitherway, the agent didn't like the fact that, be it from memory or from his imagination, Neal was under the feeling he had been shot several times, that he had even died two times.

Perhaps it'd be for the best if Neal just fell asleep now.

Which, obviously, didn't happen, even as Neal came to blink more often, slowly, as if he had a hard time staying awake.

So Peter said the only thing he could think of to calm Neal.

"I promise you I'll keep you alive, Neal."

"...Good..."

And then, because Neal had picked his curiosity, and Peter Burke wasn't working for the Federal Bureau of Investigation for the coffee, the agent eventually relented, and asked Neal what he meant by working for their country once upon a time.

Neal's eyes filled with mirth, and perhaps a bit of nostalgia.

"You're not the only one who's an Agent, Peter, you know! I used to be one, too... But I died... and I died again, and then... done with Agent Larkin... The thing is, you see... The Agency didn't even know they had hired Neal Caffrey... I got into Stanford with a forged ID, Bryce Larkin... Computer engineering, if you'd believe that...! ...And before I knew it, I was recruited by the CIA... and then agent... and then missions... Neal did cons in between Bryce's missions... and then killed, revived by the enemy for information, killed, revived by other enemies for intel once more, and... And that was it, I decided,... no more Bryce... Larkin..."

Peter stared dumbly at his CI as he finally fell asleep. The agent thought he'd decide whether or not he believed Neal's tale later, once he'd have gotten the convict home, in a safer environment, away from that damned private clinic to begin with.

Later, as it turned out, was the next day. Neal came in for work at the right time, looking pristine as always, no trace of yesterday's drugged experience visible. The CI simply walked to his desk, waved good morning to some of the other agents, possibly teased Jones about one thing or another, but Peter couldn't say from behind the glass panel of his office. Neal looked perfectly Caffreyish, down to the big innocent smile that usually spelled trouble.

And Peter couldn't help but think back to this fantastic story Neal had spinned under influence.

Neal Caffrey, CIA agent! Such a story... Or, rather, Bryce Larkin, CIA agent who died twice for the Agency. A tale who surely had allegedly killed more than a few people, put down a good deal of monsters, and endured nameless tortures. Peter really wondered how he could even have thought about Bryce Larkin's reality. Neal was a true storyteller, even while drugged, Peter should have remembered that.

Even if Peter guessed Neal did have a whole array of skills that fell right in a spy's necessary set of skills. Like, assuming any persona he wished. Or picking a lock in less than ten seconds. Or running really fast to get away when things went wrong. Or charming his way in and out of anywhere. Or...

Alright, it didn't seem that impossible for Neal to have been a spy, in another life.

But Neal still lacked the fighting skills, if anything.

Though Peter could guess Neal was fit and healthy. And the truth was, Peter didn't know if the CI could fight or even use a gun, because Neal did his best never to need such skills. Which didn't mean he didn't have them. It neither confirmed, nor denied the existence of fighting skills.

Wasn't that Neal's very nature, not to confirm nor deny anything? To lie the least possible, by evading any question which would require a lie?

Peter squinted at his CI, as the man turned around on his chair and locked eyes with him. Neal grinned, and seemed surprised when Peter's squint didn't turn into a stern frown, as it usually did whenever Neal did grin at his handler like that. Peter was the one to look away.

He had paperwork to finish...

Peter turned to his computer instead, and started a search of Stanford graduates. It couldn't hurt to see if there had been a student named Bryce Larkin around the time Neal would have been the right age for unconspicuous College studies.

If Bryce Larkin's picture looked just like Neal Caffrey, then Peter would start to worry about Neal's tale not being so much of a tale. Not that if there was an alias called Bryce Larkin in Neal's vast list of personalities, it would mean that the CI really had been hired by the CIA at some point...

And yes, there was a Bryce Larkin who had graduated in computer engineering, who looked just like Neal, an accountant who had apparently died in 2007 during a bank robbery, just when Neal should have been in jail, waiting for the end of his sentence. Considering that Peter did know Neal had missed only a few of Kate's visits every week, allegedly because he was "sick"... What kind of pull would the convict need to get out and back in every week, while still working as a bank accountant the rest of the time?

Neal opened the door to Peter's office, and the agent closed the Internet page before the CI saw it.

"Peter, about yesterday... I hope I didn't say anything too weird? I don't exactly remember..."

Peter hesitated, but eventually Neal's past was his to know only. As long as it was nothing criminal.


	2. One last time in anger

_So, this one is a twins story_

* * *

 _Neal breaks out of supermax just a bit earlier. Peter wonders why. Chuck does not freak out at Bryce's funeral when Bryce's clone appears. Sarah does the sensible thing and try to talk with Neal._

* * *

 **One last time in anger**

Special Agent Burke of the FBI was standing in the deserted cell of Neal Caffrey, convicted forger and more-than-probably-a-dozen-of-other-criminal-titles-which-for-now-remained-only-alleged.

Special Agent Peter Burke of the White Collar task force of New York's FBI offices was standing in Neal Caffrey's cell, in which Neal Caffrey wasn't anywhere to be found, and Peter Burke could feel the growing headache.

The point of all that being, obviously, that Neal Caffrey's cell in this supermax prison wasn't supposed to be deserted, considering that Neal Caffrey hadn't finished his sentence. In other words, Caffrey was supposed to be here, as always, and he wasn't. Which meant, the convict had broken out of a supermax prison.

Six months before the end of his time.

Which, frankly, made no sense.

When Peter thought about the fact that Caffrey had been in supermax only because he was a very high flight risk, and not because he actually belonged in a supermax with dangerous criminals, the agent could only say the choice had been made for nothing. The fact that Caffrey was out was enough of a testimony: the man had stayed there only because he allowed it to happen.

Peter listened intently as the prison director explained how Caffrey had taken the leave right under their nose. It did explain how, but it still did not explain why.

And to catch Neal Caffrey, Peter Burke wasn't counting on a mistake from the younger man. No, what he needed, right now, was to understand Caffrey's goal in escaping only six months before the end of his four-years sentence. There had to be an explanation, because the convict wasn't stupid.

Hell, he was one of the most intelligent people Peter had ever met.

A shame he was operating on the wrong side of the law.

Though Peter did appreciate going after a criminal who was doing his best never to get anyone injured, whose felonies didn't leave broken victims but rather victims who were only angry; who, simply put, wasn't a bad guy.

He might even feel a bit bad at the thought that someone like Neal Caffrey had been sentenced to four years in jail because of his intervention, when ruthless people with a lot less morals could get away from facing the consequences of their acts because they had more power than the kid.

Just a bit, though. Caffrey was a criminal, after all. Only, a more savory one than most.

With the escapee's yet-unknown goal in mind, Peter asked to see the surveillance videos the prison had on the younger man from the last month, to try and pick out the time something had changed, which would possibly be the time the kid had decided to escape.

Watching Caffrey's beard growing backwards as the screen went back in time was entertaining.

Seeing the large bruises on the man's jaw and cheek for the last five days wasn't.

"What exactly happened for him to be in this state?"

A warden winced, and pulled out another video, from the canteen this time. It showed Caffrey responding to another felon's, who had at least four inches over the younger man, taunt. The scene degenerated into a fight quickly enough, and by the time the wardens intervened, Caffrey had been hit twice in the face, and once in the guts. Surprisingly, he had also managed to get the other guy off him with a rough elbow in the stomach.

"Did he often got into fights?"

While it wouldn't be the first time a non-violent criminal changed drastically with jail time, Peter thought he'd remember seeing it in the man's file, but nothing came to mind. From what he remembered, Caffrey had gotten almost four years of peace in the prison, astonishing as it sounded. With a face like this, and with his non-violent tendencies... It was a wonder Neal Caffrey hadn't been the victim of abuse. Not that Peter liked to think about it. Caffrey did have to do his time.

Unless, of course, the kid had found a powerful protector right away. More than likely, in fact. If there was one con artist Peter'd think of to make four years in supermax into holidays with only smooth-talking, it was Caffrey.

"Never. He made best buddies with most of the top criminals around here by painting them portraits of their visitors and family members, and possibly arranging a few 'conversations' between the inside and the outside, 'allegedly', of course. This came as a surprise."

The warden heard Peter mutter an "allegedly" back, before the special agent sighed.

"Alright. So, in light of recent events, the fight was most likely staged. By the time Caffrey got out of solitary confinement, he was still bruised, his beard was more than a little gruff. He somehow got his hands on some top notch concealer to hide the bruises, he shaved, meaning the wardens didn't recognize him when he walked out of the prison wearing a warden uniform. And now, he's out."

It at least explained the beard.

And for the bruises... Caffrey had had to be on a tight schedule, or else Peter didn't think he'd have resorted to getting himself hurt. He'd just have waited for the beard to be longer, for the wardens to be more accustomed to his new looks, before reverting back to his former ones.

"Show me when he first stopped shaving."

They watched the morning feeds a bit longer, and Peter finally settled on a saturday two weeks ago. He asked to know if anything had happened the day before, and saw a warden fidget awkwardly.

The FBI agent slowly raised his eyebrows at the man, waiting for an explanation.

The director turned around, and looked at the warden too.

"Well, Matthews?"

"The... The day before, a lawyer came to me at my house, and said I had to inform one of the inmates that a 'Bryce' had been killed in duty. It didn't seem like dangerous info, and it wasn't directed at Caffrey, but..."

Peter didn't stay to discover what would happen to the warden, because he had better things to do right now. Like, catching up on Caffrey, discovering who this "Bryce" was, and clearing this mess up. Besides, as Matthews had said, it wasn't as if he had given the convict anything dangerous. He'd get away mostly unscathed...

Now, Peter had no idea who this "Bryce" was, but for Caffrey to bolt out of supermax this quick...

The FBI still had no idea as to Neal Caffrey's past, before his eighteenth birthday. Peter had a feeling "Bryce" was either a family member, or a very close friend, from before the black hole of the FBI's ignorance. Because if he had been killed in duty, there were few chances the man was a friend from Caffrey's criminal time.

 **oOo**

Chuck Bartowski and Sarah Walker were sitting next to each other at Bryce Larkin's second funeral. Which may sound strange, but well, when you had a supersecret computer in your head and your life included spies and confidential missions out of the blue, it wasn't such a stretch for someone not to be as dead as they said the first time around. Chuck wasn't even surprised anymore by the fact that it was the second time he was present at Bryce's funeral.

He was even starting to believe Bryce would just rise out of his coffin and tell them it was only a false alarm, again, because death didn't stick onto him.

Chuck also knew that if he said that to Sarah, she'd make sure to remind him miracles didn't happen twice, and he was only fooling himself. She'd even be harsher than usual, because she had liked Bryce for some time too, and she was taking his second death just as bad as the first.

Bryce being dead a recognized hero this time wasn't any kind of comfort, to either of them.

At first, General Beckman hadn't been too eager to give Bryce a proper funeral this time around, but Chuck had convinced her that no one would ask about it if his friend was buried in Burbank, where no one except them knew him.

Or, more likely, Chuck had begged her ear off and the general had relented only because that'd make him feel somewhat indebted, meaning he'd be easier to manipulate when needed.

The results being that Sarah and Chuck were now at Bryce Larkin's funeral, again, with a bunch of other CIA agents who did not give the chills to Chuck. Not at all.

Casey hadn't come, of course. He had simply grunted. Which wasn't that surprising, given the number of times the NSA agent had shot at Bryce in the past.

The burying would begin soon, they knew. It was unlikely anyone else would come for the funeral.

Or, that was what Chuck thought until he heard the high-pitched screeching of a car being stopped in a rush, just next to them. All the ex-military / dangerous-eitherway people present tensed visibly at the sight of the yellow Ferrari that was half parked, half abandoned on the road, probably expecting someone with a machine gun to get out and shower them with bullets.

Just, you know, the usual day in Chuck's life.

Only it wasn't a man with a machine gun who got out of the Ferrari, but a young man with a bruised face, a yellow windbreaker, and absolutely no weapon. A young man who, Chuck thought he ought to point out, was Bryce Larkin.

Everyone still had a hand on their weapon, except Chuck who, obviously, had no weapon, but other than that, no one did a thing as the stranger strode purposefully, with much anger in his steps, to the coffin. A coffin in which, Chuck couldn't help himself from thinking, the man should be in right now. Because that was Bryce, there was no other explanation.

The man looked like Bryce, walked with Bryce's determination, and had Bryce's hard expression right now. Perhaps it was only a "right now" something, perhaps in everyday life he wasn't like that, but in this moment, in this situation, the stranger was Bryce Larkin for all purpose.

The stranger shed off the yellow windbreaker as he walked, only to let appear a prison warden's uniform underneath, which may seem strange at first, but Chuck had learned, during the last two years, not to question things too much if he wanted to remain sane.

Chuck's eyes were glued to the purple bruises on the man's face and jaw, as he tried to remember if he had ever seen Bryce hurt, other than that one last time...

The stranger stopped at the coffin, heaved the lid, and sucked in a breath.

Of course, Bryce's body was still in there. Bryce n°2 wasn't Bryce Larkin, Chuck shouldn't even have questioned that. He almost looked away, unable to see his dead friend one more time. But Chuck's eyes snapped back up at the stranger's face, who, him, looked harder than even before, his blue eyes cold with fury. The man stayed unmoving for about a minute, and Chuck wondered what he was thinking about. It was better than to look back at Bryce.

Were they twins? It seemed likely, but how had the stranger learned of the funeral anyway? Bryce's family hadn't been notified of his second death, as they hadn't known him to be alive again...

The stranger sneered quietly, and shut the coffin closed, again.

Then, to Chuck's horror, he literally spat on the coffin.

"See what it got you, brother, to walk on the right side of the line!"

Oh God, he even sounded like Bryce!

Before anyone thought to say a word, the stranger stomped away from the coffin, Bryce's eternal emotionless face on, and sat down on a chair in the grass, arms crossed, not open for discussion.

The CIA agents at the funeral visibly relaxed, though they still shot uneasy glances at the Larkin twin, as surprised as Chuck and Sarah apparently were. Chuck hesitated a moment, willing to go and talk to the stranger, perhaps say to him that his brother had died a hero, but he wasn't sure he'd want to hear that from the guy Bryce had previously saved and lost his life for at the same time.

Eventually, Chuck chickened out and went to clean up the coffin, because it was easier to deal with the spit of Bryce's twin than with Bryce's twin himself.

By the time Chuck came back from cleaning duty, which took much more time than you'd think, especially as Chuck did not want to come back, he saw Sarah standing next to the chair with Bryce's twin on it. Next to the chair, and not to Bryce n°2, obviously.

Ah, crap, perhaps Chuck should stop pretending there wasn't a Bryce clone sitting grumpily in the graveyard.

So he walked, slowly, very slowly, to Sarah, and, subsequently, to Bryce's twin.

He did wonder if the stranger was as dangerous as his twin brother, and if he would hold a grudge that he hadn't managed to save Bryce despite everything Bryce had done for Chuck. He hoped not.

Not that the Larkin twin would ever know the confidential situation in which his brother had died. Unless, of course, Chuck did babble in awkwardness at some point. He did tend to do that when he got nervous. Was he nervous right now?

Fortunately, Sarah was here to ensure he didn't do something like spilling out confidential info.

Right?

 **oOo**

Neal Caffrey, also known as Neal Bennett, Danny Brooks, Nick Halden, George Devore, and a few dozens other aliases, kept his eyes stubbornly fixed on his brother's coffin. Bryce Larkin, also known as Bryce Bennett, Devon Brooks, and a few other, CIA-approved legends such as Bruce Anderson, was lying in there, again, and once more dying for his country; and while Neal could understand dedicating one's life to the protection of others, he seriously thought Bryce should have listened to him one year ago, after his first death, and left it alone. Dying once for the Agency had to be enough of a sacrifice.

But no, no! Bryce was stubborn and disgustingly devoted to his spy work, no matter the dangers involved. Perhaps he thought he had to continue, now that his hands had been stained by his very duty. It wouldn't surprise Neal if that was the reason.

Not that he could really judge Bryce, considering his own life decisions weren't exactly safe either. If Neal didn't use violence himself, it wasn't always the case of the people he dealt with or conned.

Still, Neal did try not to get in a situation where he could be shot to death. Unlike Bryce.

Bryce did it, twice. As if once wasn't enough.

Neal may have glared a bit too much at the other attendees, especially for someone who had gotten there late, barely in time for the burying. But he had an excuse, that said other attendees would soon learn if the special agent Peter Burke was as good at his job as Neal thought.

He hadn't exactly been trying to cover his trail after breaking out of supermax, too focused on hurrying to get there in time. He hadn't shed off the warden's uniform, nor the windbreaker because he had had other things to think about. Such as, Bryce's death. Again.

He had just been cautious enough for the FBI or the marshalls not to get ahead of him.

At this point, Neal didn't care if he was going back for a full sentence once they'd get him. He had had to be there for Bryce's funeral, especially as he hadn't been able to come the first time around. And he couldn't exactly ask for a prison leave, when no one had a clue he had a twin brother.

Both brothers had decided it that way, apparently. Keeping each other out of their life, so that their enemies wouldn't come after the other one. The CIA obviously knew that Devon Brooks had a missing twin brother, as, unlike Neal, Bryce had used the proper channels to get out of WITSEC and get a new name. But they didn't know Neal Caffrey was this twin brother.

During the last years, Bryce and Neal had only seen each other a handful of times.

Neither approved of the other's choice of career.

Neal had ended up in jail, so he could understand why Bryce didn't approve, though he could have broken out way sooner had he wished to. But as Bryce was the one who was dead, Neal still thought he had been more justified to complain about Bryce's job than Bryce had been about his.

Stupid Bryce.

Stupid, dead Bryce.

Neal glared at the coffin once more, and didn't move from the chair he was sitting on. Agent Burke and the marshalls shouldn't be too long, and Neal had no intention to go on the run just after Bryce's funeral. He really didn't see the point, not when Bryce's idiocy would suck all the fun out of the run.

He also ignored the constant ache in his ribs and face. He had asked for the beating, after all.

One more thing to blame on Bryce.

"Are you Bryce's brother?"

Neal didn't look away from the coffin, not even to get a look at the blond young woman who had just talked. She, as well as about everyone at this funeral, except perhaps the gangly, nerdy kid who was cleaning Bryce's coffin right now, was CIA. He could see it in the way she seemed relaxed, but only at first glance. Ready to fight back if anything happened, but not too obvious. Bryce had been the same.

"No, I'm his clone from a parallel universe."

She seemed to ignore his sarcastic answer, perhaps for the better. Neal was angry enough for the two of them.

"The one who ran away, Danny?"

Neal snorted, finally understanding that there had been more than a colleagues relationship between the agent and Bryce. If Bryce had told her about his runaway older brother, it had to be more.

"Technically, I did not run away. An eighteen years old is totally entitled to get the hell out of Dodge and never contact their family again. And my name is Neal. 'Danny' was my WITSEC name."

She didn't seem to have an answer to that, even if Neal could see her tense at the mention of WITSEC, even if he only watched her from the corner of his eye. He wasn't going to stop glaring at Bryce's coffin just like that, and was observant enough to manage, even with a CIA agent to decode.

Eventually she settled on asking another question, one he had been waiting for.

"How did you know about the funeral?"

"He came and found me one year ago, and left with a mean to contact me if it had to happen again."

Not that it had been terribly difficult for Bryce to find Neal while he had been in jail, but he wasn't going to tell her that. She'd know soon enough.

Gangly-Nerdy came around just as the burying actually started. It stopped him from saying whatever he had been mustering courage to say. The two CIA somethings, because if the blond woman was an agent, Neal seriously doubted the kid was too, went to stand next to the coffin as it was descended into the ground. Neal stayed on his chair, repressing a scowl at his idiot brother.

Things went on in silence, and the various people were about to leave when several government-issued vehicles made their way in the cemetery. All the CIA eyes followed the US marshals cars as they quietly pulled over. There was also a FBI-black car, not that the color was actually indivative.

Neal didn't even bother with a look at the cars, as he glared at the freshly closed grave where his brother's coffin had disappeared.

A man stepped out of the FBI car, looked around to assess the situation, sighed deeply as his eyes fell on the back of Neal's head, and moved to join the escaped convict. He did spare more than a glance to the Ferrari Neal had borrowed before that, though.

There was a deep silence as FBI Special Agent Burke went to stand right next to Neal Caffrey, eyes locked on the fresh grave as if it'd explain everything.

Neal did spare a quick look at the agent.

Then he went back to glaring at Bryce's grave, even as Peter Burke started interrogating him.

"You carrying?"

Neal snorted at that, especially as the CIA agents around, about whom Burke knew nothing, gave him a newly suspicious look for the questioning. As if having a bunch of marshals crashing the end of a funeral hadn't been enough of a hint that he wasn't only Bryce Larkin's twin brother.

"Obviously not, Agent Burke. I'm non-violent, remember? And eitherway, the only one I'd like to shoot right now for his stupidity, is already dead."

Burke's mouth quirked, but he didn't let anything else show of his amusement.

"So, they pulled you out of your current cases to come after me?"

"No, I pulled myself out. It took us three years to get to you the first time around, and I didn't want a repeat. Now, Caffrey, if you could explain what the hell went through your mind for you to walk right out of a supermax prison only six months before your time was up, I'd appreciate."

Neal could see the way a few of the CIA agents narrowed their eyes at him, as if fully appreciating his blood ties with CIA agent Bryce Larkin for the first time, while registering that Larkin's twin was a criminal who bolted out of supermax whenever he wanted.

The escapee gave the grave a dry smile and a vague gesture.

"This, Agent Burke, is my twin's grave. Or, actually, the second one, because things are weird like that in the CIA. Apparently Agent Bryce Larkin died in a bank robbery two years ago, but he still managed to get himself killed two weeks ago, again. I'll point out my faked deaths were more entertaining than bank robbery. I did get eaten by a shark once, if you recall."

Burke didn't fall for the bluff, though. Not that calling Neal out on this lie was really difficult; people often downplayed their grief when a family member died.

"You do realize this stunt will probably cost you another four years?"

Neal waved the concern away.

"Or you could get me a CI release status. You do need help on this Matisse forgery you're working on, you know. And I need something to take my mind off my dead twin brother."

Burke tried to get out of him how he knew about his latest case, but Neal's lips were sealed.


	3. Rescue and murder

_I hate this thing. Seriously. Sometimes there are a few OSs I think I really, really shouldn't write, but I still do, because hell, it's interesting. Broke-my-heart interesting, but interesting._

 _In other words, that's kind of what I feel each time I read a Neal-really-is-Bryce story where the author is all "no but Neal is no more than a cover, you know". I particularly hate the idea of an intersected Neal who disappears completely, which is totally why I ended up writing this. Yes, I'm logical._

* * *

 _Neal Caffrey never was. Bryce Larkin simply forgot he was for three years._

 _Team Chuck found him again in NYC, alive but thinking he's someone else._

 _Neal wasn't meant to last._

* * *

 **Rescue and murder**

It all happened very discreetly, or at least it seemed that way at first glance. The FBI agents at the office were doing their job, Peter continued working his cases though mostly alone, Diana and Jones never mentioned what had happened. In fact, it was as if Neal Caffrey had never existed; or, as some would still have to speak about him from time to time, about an old case for example, it was as if Neal Caffrey, CI, had simply finished his time and gone on with his life.

As if he hadn't been friends with half the White Collar office, and friendly with the other half.

In truth, if the silence was here, if no one said a word about what had happened, it was only a front.

Because, really, to everyone involved it looked like these silenced explosions in movies, when the sound is cut to add to the drama instead of going down into an action scene. The days went on, and they couldn't hear a thing, but everyone, Peter Burke, Diana Barrigan and Clinton Jones especially, were still shaking from the explosion. The spectator may not have heard the explosion, but the characters in the story had.

It still rang in their ears.

One day four strangers had come into the office, and asked to speak with Hughes and Burke. It was about Caffrey, they said. They were from the CIA, with one NSA exception, they said. It was confidential, they said.

Neal arrived into the office about ten minutes later, and everyone came to him, to ask if he had ever done something as foolishly reckless as stealing from the CIA. The CI looked at them as if they were crazy at first, then he frowned and stole a glance towards Reese Hughes' office.

"Not knowingly, at least."

Neal couldn't distinguish the features of the people in Hughes' office, except Peter and the ASAC himself. He squinted, recognized a woman's frame, a bulk of a man, a shortish guy, and a lanky individual. No, he had no idea who they were.

Still, because people didn't usually ask him if he had been stupid enough to steal from an intelligence agency, Neal had no doubt the questioning hadn't been random, and the strangers were, somehow, here for him.

Which he didn't like. At all.

He knew he hadn't ever stolen anything of interest to the CIA. He knew that.

It didn't mean they knew that.

What if, once again, his reputation had gone a bit overboard? What if someone had used his name to commit a crime, once more?

It wouldn't be the first time.

Suddenly the door to Hughes' office gaped open, and Peter was out, pointing two fingers at him, as if to call him in. An instant later, the agent had disappeared back into the ASAC's office. He had looked very upset, and it frightened Neal a bit. It wasn't the kind of upset he was used to see on Peter's face. It was another thing altogether.

And it wasn't good, Neal could just say it.

He shared a disturbed look with the rest of the office, and walked up the stairs to Hughes'.

When he passed the door, all Neal saw was awkwardness on the visitors' faces, except for the military man's, of course, and angered disbelief for the two FBI agents.

"Can I... do something for you, perhaps?"

The lanky guy tried to say something, apparently, but no words went past his lips, only a strangled mess of consonants and vowels. The military man next to him rolled his eyes, and the blond woman glared in answer, before her eyes fell back on Neal, hesitant.

Hughes was the one to speak up, though.

"Caffrey, these are Charles and Michael Carmicheal, Sarah Walker and John Casey. Apparently they are here on the behalf of the CIA, though they work privately. It would seem... It seems you became a person of interest when your name appeared in one of their latest... investigations."

Tall-and-lanky squirmed at that, and the shortest man in the group crushed the man's right feet with no discretion whatsoever. It was obvious to Neal that their words had been hugely edited by Hughes, and that "Charles Carmichael" was a terrible liar. The stranger did a great deal of efforts, Neal had to give him that, but even so the lie was visible to someone who knew what to look for.

This, he decided, was the kind of guy who could only lie well enough by writing the fiction over the truth, never by starting blank. He'd use an emotion he couldn't keep inside and turn it into something else, but he'd never be able to fake that emotion in the first place.

This was the kind of person Neal could wriggle anything out of.

Logically he should be the one Neal would interrogate now.

The only thing being, Neal didn't feel like wriggling anything out of that guy. If he did, he was almost certain it'd end badly for him. He did not want to hear what these strangers had to say.

Maybe he should just walk out, and pretend nothing had happened, and there wasn't a bunch of CIA-approved people in Reese Hughes' office who wanted something from him.

The glare the military man gave him smothered any hope.

"A person of interest?"

Neal made sure none of his newly found unease could be heard in his voice, and surely enough, it fooled everyone in the room. The irritated look Peter threw at him was enough of a clue to that. Maybe they guessed he was hiding his true reaction, because hell, who wouldn't be anxious at the news that they were a "person of interest" to the CIA? - but there were no proof of his lie.

Wasn't it all that mattered with justice these days? That even if everyone is convinced you did it, it doesn't stand a chance as long as there is no evidence?

Which, Neal realized, wasn't all that reassuring when he considered these guys were with the CIA. Mozzie might be paranoid, and surely the CIA wasn't looking to control everyone's brains with chocolate chips, but they still were very able of making someone disappear without a trace if they wanted. Moreover, Neal doubted they cared all that much about evidences.

If they thought he had done something...

The blond woman, Sarah Walker, supposing it was truly her name, which Neal doubted just a little more than his own name, took a step to stand before her colleagues.

"Your actual name is Neal Bennett, is it not? Switched with 'Danny Brooks' by your years in WITSEC, and definitely changed into 'Neal Caffrey' at your eighteenth birthday, in between assumptions of a few dozens of aliases, which you do not consider real unlike Caffrey?"

If Neal wasn't so used to masking everything, the corner of his mouth sure would have twitched.

That's exactly what he meant by doubting his own name; while "Neal Caffrey" was who he thought himself to be, he was well aware that as far as the law was concerned, he was Neal Bennett. Not that anyone was supposed to know that, not since he had ran out of St. Louis to never be seen again.

How had these people even made the connection?

"Possibly."

Neal saw Peter's and Hughes' frowns when they heard the woman talk of WITSEC, but apparently what they had heard beforehand, when he hadn't been in the room, surpassed any revelation about his past, because they kept their questions to themselves.

He turned back to the blond woman.

"So, which of my aliases do you have a grudge against?"

There the little guy of the group seemed about to say something, probably something for what Neal would have punched him if he had been violent, which he was not, but that's not the point. For some reason the CI could just say he'd have wanted to punch "Michael Carmichael". Luckily for Neal's reputation as a non-violent confidence artist, he didn't get to making a choice about an appropriate reaction; instead, he watched as the other "Carmichael" walked on his "brother"'s foot, in a reminescent but inversed scene. The two might behave like brothers or best friends, but they surely didn't share even half a drop of blood. Their respective heights were obvious enough about that.

The military guy was, surprisingly, the one to grunt an answer.

"Bryce Larkin."

Neal frowned, racking his brain for an alias he knew not to be there.

Sarah Walker glared at the man.

"Not exactly, no. But we believe you might have been in... contact with Bryce Larkin at some point, and truth be said, we are still looking for him. Depending on what you'll be able to tell us... We might know if he's still alive."

Eh... That wasn't what Neal had expected. Not that he had been expecting anything in particular.

"I'm sorry to say that, but I don't think I've ever met someone named Bryce Larkin."

The woman's upper lip twitched. Neal didn't like it. He didn't know why exactly, but he didn't like that twitch. It foretold something bad. Sarah Walker forced a smile upon her lips. He could see its falseness, but he wasn't sure anyone else in the room could tell. She was good.

"He... He was a CIA agent. If you... met... him, it's probably not under his real name. We just want to show you a few pictures. Maybe you'll recognize him."

Neal saw the way the lanky guy's gaze immediately left his face, and went to look at nothing in particular, as long as it wasn't the CI. There was something, in this "recognize", that wasn't all it seemed. Neal could hear it. He knew a lie when it was told.

What frightened him now wasn't the lie. He was used to those. What got to him was that he didn't know what laid behind the lie. And in such cases, what laid behind was everything that mattered.

But did he really have a choice? Was there a valid reason for him to refuse to look at a few pictures? Could he really pass the door and hope they'd just forget about him? What did it matter, to them, to these strangers, if Neal Caffrey felt like he'd die the moment he'd agree to look at these pictures?

Neal pushed these questions back, deep into the recesses of his mind.

They were unrealistic.

Looking at a few pictures of a man he may or may not have ever seen wasn't going to kill him.

Neal gave the strangers a smile which he felt to be faulty inside, even if he knew it to be perfectly calm on the outside. He was too good a master of deception to let his irrational fears out.

"Of course. If I can help you, I will. If not..."

"Charles Carmichael" handed him a small tablet of unknown design, which Neal suspected to be CIA-produced or something. The CI took it warily, eyeing the strangers at the same time. Two of them, Carmichael n°1 and Walker, had a guilty look mixed with hope, that did nothing to comfort his fears. Carmichael n°2 looked more curious than anything else, and from the dark look the bulky man, "John Casey", was giving him, Neal guessed he wasn't totally aware of the seriousness of the situation.

Which Neal himself knew nothing about.

Hadn't he already said how much he didn't like not knowing?

"Just wait a moment, I'll get the right... Oh, there."

The lanky guy started an app instead of opening an images folder, Neal noticed it right away. For half a second, he wondered if the stranger had simply gotten it wrong. It could happen, especially when you were trying to use a tablet in someone else's hands.

The wonder lasted no more than an instant, though.

Because the next moment, the CI's eyes were stuck on the multitude of images that appeared on the screen, going at an inhuman pace. The pictures felt familiar, in a way that wasn't of any comfort. Under the load of info, Neal felt crushed, folded, destroyed.

Certainly, when the app ended, Neal Caffrey was no more, and Bryce Larkin was the one to blink back at Chuck Bartowski.

The first thing he said since 2009 was not a sentence, and wasn't said at all.

It was a weak laugh, as Bryce took in the view of his former best friend, of his former girlfriend, very obviously married to each other, of his former killer in the person of John Casey, and of someone he'd never thought he'd see in spy-related situations, Morgan Grimes.

His laugh died on his lips, though. His eyes had just fallen onto the two FBI agents further in the room. And Neal Caffrey's memories hadn't disappeared as Bryce Larkin had come back to the surface. It was more a matter of him suddenly being aware that Neal, as his other aliases, hadn't ever been more than a legend.

Which the conman hadn't been to Peter Burke.

But Bryce wasn't Neal. Neal didn't even exist.

Bryce forced himself to look back at Chuck and Sarah.

"You found me."

There was a hint of disbelief in his voice, not without reason.

Neal had been a legend created by Fulcrum, years ago, when he hadn't yet understood that all his orders didn't come from the CIA, even when they were given by his superior. Neal had been an alias he used for non-violent missions, thefts that he had later found out were used to fund part of Fulcrum activities. In other words, the clean part of the CIA had no idea Neal even existed.

He wasn't sure how he had fallen back into Neal's personality, so deep this time, that he wasn't himself anymore.

Chuck glanced at Sarah, as if asking for permission, which, now that Bryce thought about it, was probably the case. The blonde spy nodded in agreement, and Chuck sighed.

"We... We found a Fulcrum survivor a few weeks ago. He had files about 'Neal Caffrey', and how the Ring had revived you again. Only, this time, they had gone so far as to trap you in an intersected personality, based on your Fulcrum alias."

Bryce frowned a bit, unsure of what it all meant.

"And that's supposed to mean what, exactly? I certainly haven't been contacted by anyone with shady goals during the last three years..."

That is, except Adler, Keller, and a few others, but these guys were just regular criminals, not traitorous spies. Pains in the ass, sure, difficult to deal with, well-connected sometimes, and all that, but no agents of the Ring.

"I doubt they revived me only because I'm pretty."

Or at least, he sure hoped there was another reason than that. Mad people did mad things all the time, yes, but he didn't need that idea in his mind. It'd make him sick just to think about it.

Casey may or may not have snorted at that.

Bryce may or may not have inched away from the NSA - ex-NSA? - agent at the unexpected reaction.

Sarah certainly did look at both of them sternly before answering.

"No idea. Our only source is in no shape to answer anymore. My best guesses are, their plans for you went south, or they never got to start them as we destroyed the Ring one year later."

Bryce was about to ask more questions, but was interrupted by the hard voice of Reese Hughes.

"If you are done here, I'll ask you to leave these offices. You've confirmed that Bryce Larkin is the true identity of Neal Caffrey, you got him back, he is obviously not a criminal which means he has no business working as a convicted CI for us, and this anklet can come down. I'll send the paperwork your way, though, Mr Carmichael."

Bryce stared dumbly at Hughes, as he actually remembered what he had spent the last three years doing while thinking he was Neal Caffrey. Peter Burke's face was closed as he walked to Bryce, and undid the tracking anklet. Bryce suddenly realized something.

Chuck tried to speak first.

"Wait, don't you want more explan..."

Burke's voice was hard as he interrupted him. The FBI agent returned to his boss' side, but kept his back turned, as if he didn't want to see the others. Burke didn't want to see Bryce Larkin.

"Please understand, Mr Carmichael, that you may have given back his life to Agent Larkin, but that you also killed Neal in the process. To us, it doesn't matter if Neal wasn't real to begin with. Neal himself thought he existed. If he doesn't anymore, it's because you murdered him. I appreciate that Bryce Larkin had more rights to exist than Neal Caffrey, I trully do. But you still killed my friend. And I want you out of here. All of you. Now."

Bryce had nothing to say to that. He had Neal's memories, true, he knew how much Neal cared about the FBI agent, he knew what Burke had done for the CI... But it wasn't as if he was Neal.

When Bryce Larkin walked out of the White Collar division, Neal Caffrey disappeared forever.

Truthfully, it was as if the FBI agents were all living Kate Moreau's death again, only this time, with them being in Neal's place. One of their friends had died in a terrible explosion, and everyone expected them to go on with their lives because that's what their contracts said.

All this had never happened. Neal Caffrey wasn't dead; he never was. The contracts said so.

Only, they still heard his non-existent death ringing in their heads. And no amount of confidential paperwork would ever manage to get that exploding sound out of their head.


	4. Still sticking around - part 1

_Bryce Larkin died for the second time that night. But Bryce Larkin never was. neal Caffrey was. And Neal Caffrey died for the second time that night._  
 _He didn't expect to still be conscious, in the New York FBI office, White Collar division, after that._  
 _And Peter Burke certainly hadn't planned to get a ghostly CI._

* * *

 _This is so much fun..._  
 _And such a mess to deal with. Good thing I stopped writing before it got to that part!_

* * *

 **Still sticking around - part 1**

Bryce Larkin died at night, in a secret facility hidden behind an official business.

For the second time.

Though the first time had been in a secret facility of the NSA, not hidden behind a front business.

Still, Bryce Larkin died at night for the second time in his life, and this time, there was no one to revive him, or who would have wanted to revive him. Bryce Larkin wasn't a particularly liked individual. Even the people who did like him, liked him better from afar. If some would cry a little for his death, none would really want him back. They thought he was too much trouble.

It was a pity, really, considering everything he had done for these people.

But Bryce Larkin was the kind of guy who never got any recognition, not until it was too late, and never enough that people would actually want him back.

Bryce Larkin was the kind of individual you liked to blame, even when it wasn't their fault if the situation was shitty to begin with. That kind of people you blamed for not being able to do miracles, when others are put on a pedestal simply because they had tried, even when they had failed.

So, that particular night, Bryce Larkin died again. And it didn't disrupt the course of the world all that much. A few tears, a quick burial, and the world was done with Bryce Larkin.

Perhaps it wasn't so strange, considering that Bryce Larkin had never existed to begin with.

But while Bryce Larkin wasn't a real person, only a creation, an identity no one had managed to crack, but who was still very fake, there was a real person who died that night. The one person who had been using the name Bryce Larkin all along. If Bryce Larkin died that night, and Bryce Larkin had never existed, it meant that Bryce Larkin hadn't died. Someone who's not real cannot be killed.

There still was a body left behind. If Bryce Larkin didn't die that night, Neal Caffrey did.

Neal Caffrey was a genius white collar criminal, who shed personas like a snake's skin - only, more frequently. He went from Nick Halden to Bryce Larkin to Gary Rydell in the blink of an eye, and a change of clothes.

He hadn't expected to be noticed by the CIA as he had gotten himself into college at Stanford, but certainly had appreciated the challenge, and before he knew it, he had become a CIA agent... or, Bryce Larkin had become a CIA agent, while Neal Caffrey continued his crimes around the world in between Bryce's missions.

He never had a minute to relax, but it didn't bother him all that much. The human life was only so long, that he had to make the better of it. Bryce allowed him to do good things and save people, even if at the cost of some lives along the way, something he didn't like very much, but he understood. Neal Caffrey, him, could only do cons and thefts and otherwise frowned-upon-by-the-law activities, which were exciting in themselves, and relatively victimless, at least in the ways that mattered, because he never went after someone who couldn't afford it – but the cons didn't do any good to his conscience.

Despite what some people might have said, Neal Caffrey had a conscience.

In fact, he had long wanted to be a cop, to defend those who couldn't, just like his father.

Then he had heard the truth about his father's heroism, and Neal hadn't felt like he should be allowed to protect anyone. Not when he was his father's son. Not when he doubted himself and his tendencies not to follow the rules.

It was easier to simply chose a "job" which actually asked for him to break the rules.

Out of nowhere, "Bryce Larkin" had offered him a chance to be doing what he was best at, and be the good guy at the same time. Bryce Larkin had allowed him to be, even if while living a lie, the man he had once dreamed of being.

About half of Neal's lives were lies, anyway. Someone with as many lives as him couldn't possibly be all that real. And if he had more than one true life, it was only because his name had been officially changed once, and he had himself unofficially, but effectively, changed it once more.

It didn't matter, though. Not now. Not anymore. Never again.

Because Bryce Larkin had died that night, and if Bryce Larkin truly had never been alive, it wasn't Neal Caffrey's case. So when Bryce Larkin had died that night, really it was Neal Caffrey who kicked the bucket. Again. Not everybody could say they had died twice in their life.

He'd complain about it being an unhealthy habit, except he was, you know, dead.

Definitely, this time.

Dead people don't complain all that much. Because they're, you know, dead. Which Neal was.

Surprisingly, or perhaps not so much with all the crazyness in his life, but still, quite a lot nonetheless, because, really, this wasn't the kind of crazy he was used to - anyway, to the point: surprisingly, Neal found he still managed to complain, even though being dead.

Which was clearly suspicious, if you asked him for his opinion. Not that anyone would ask a dead guy about his opinion on the possibility to complain after being shot to death, actually dying, at that.

Had Neal been religious, he'd still find this situation more than a little tiny bit suspicious. Because even considering he'd believe in God and the afterlife, were he religious, there'd still be the issue that the place he was at right now didn't exactly look like Heaven... or Hell for that matter. Wonder where he'd end up. He wasn't a bad guy, surely, but he wasn't a saint either...

Anyway.

The place Neal found himself in, after having died a truly disappointing death, didn't look like any kind of afterlife he'd ever heard about. In fact, it looked pretty much like the deserted offices of some company after hours. No lights on. No one. And certainly no judge to tell him where he deserved to go from now on. Just a bunch of desks, chairs, shelves, and various other furnitures.

An office. Neal, or really, Bryce, had seen a lot of strange and otherwise disturbing things in his life.

A deserted office in the middle of the night didn't even make it to the Top Twenty.

No, what bothered the newly-deceased Neal Caffrey had nothing to do with the place in itself... and more to do with the fact that he was here, after having died. Neal wasn't an expert on the subject of dying - though some people may think he did have a headstart - but he seriously thought it wasn't supposed to happen like that.

Usually, he surmised, it was more of a dead,-lights-out kind of things.

Thus his issue with the current situation was such: yes, he was dead; no, the lights weren't out.

Proof, his continued existence.

Neal heard a sound coming from the other side of the office, and turned around. The glass doors had opened to let a man enter, but the stranger hadn't yet noticed Neal. He was on the phone.

"Sorry, Honey, but I had a hunch... Yes, I know, I'll be there tomorrow evening, as I promised... No, no, just do as always... I'm sure Satchmo'll be happy to eat my meal... Me too, Elizabeth."

The man sighed, unaware of the younger man standing in awe just a few feet ahead of him. He had a case to work on, criminals to catch, and an idea to get there. That's why he had come back to the office this late at night. Something another agent had said had rung a bell earlier, so... He knew what to look for. He wasn't sure how difficult it'd be to find it, but it was still more than before.

And, more importantly, he knew he wouldn't be able to go to sleep before he found his hidden link.

As for Neal, he was finding this situation alarmingly amusing, which didn't sit right with him at all. For some reason, it seemed, he was dead, and yes, he was certain of that, because his T-shirt still felt sticky with blood, and God, was he a ghost, now? - he was dead, and in the New York FBI office, White Collar division, with Peter Burke, the man who had caught him by luring him with Kate, a few years ago, working late hours.

Considering he was a ghost, Neal wasn't sure Burke would be able to see him or anything, but if he did... That was a whole can of worms that'd be opened, one to which he didn't have half of the answers - the ones about how the hell he was a ghost - and the other half better would be left alone - like, how had he died out of jail, when he was supposed to be in there for six more months yet?

The bright side, Neal supposed, was that even if the CIA somehow heard about it all, they wouldn't be able to kill him for what he had done, given that he was already dead. They wouldn't be able to lock him in a cobalt prison either... Or, hoped hoped they couldn't.

After all, he didn't think the CIA knew how to deal with ghosts, and yesterday he'd have said there was no way a government agency would waste time with fictional supernatural issues. But today, he knew such things weren't that fictional. For all he knew, there was a governmental agency dealing with these kinds of problems so that the population would not hear about the supernatural.

Neal sure hoped he was an invisible ghost right now.

On the other hand, he was pretty certain he'd get bored quickly, if no one could tell he was here. Neal didn't do well with loneliness. He had pulled it off as Bryce, because he knew he could always become Neal again, have his friends again, shake off the solitude if he needed. But if he was supposed to spend the rest of eternity alone, watching over what became of the world...

He wouldn't be able to.

Burke pressed a switch, and there came the light.

Moment of truth, Neal realized. Either the FBI agent ignored him, because he actually couldn't see him... or there would be a very awkward, very problematic moment when the man'd see him.

Burke turned around, grabbed a file, and otherwise ignored Neal. The ghost didn't dare move, just in case the agent had simply not noticed him, rather than not being able to see him. Moving would probably give him an answer... But Neal wasn't certain he wanted that answer. Whatever it'd be.

Burke grumbled something at the papers in his hands, something about it being obvious, that he should be able to find it if he focused on the right points...

Neal, curious, sneaked on the unsuspecting man, and looked over Peter Burke's shoulder.

It was a file about a simple insurance scam, which the FBI hadn't had much difficulty to tear apart, except on one point: they knew how it was done, who was in on it, who benefited from it... but they were lacking hard evidences. Everything in this file was circumstancial at best, and they still hoped they could pin the criminal down with no risk of her getting away at her trial.

Neal squinted at the receipts in evidence on the wall, not in the best position to read.

 _"Well that's a very good job. The pizza delivering boy is on it, though. Definitely the messenger."_

Burke started at Neal's whispers. Neal realized he had spoken aloud, or, if anything, loud enough to be heard. And, apparently, Burke had heard him.

The FBI agent turned around, a hand on his gun, and looked right at Neal.

"Caffrey?!"

No doubts he could see Neal, then.

The ghost took a step back, unwilling to be shot at by a FBI agent. He was fairly certain it wouldn't do anything to him, but he wasn't completely sure it wouldn't at least tingle.

 _"Agent Burke. Pleasure to see you again. Not exactly something I had planned, but well..."_

Peter Burke suddenly became aware that not only Neal Caffrey, convict currently, or, supposedly, in supermax, was in the FBI building of Manhattan, which definitely wasn't normal, but that, moreover, the man was not looking good.

In fact, Peter focused for a moment on the state of Caffrey's clothes, and he had to say, he wasn't used to seeing the con artist looking like that. First, because he was wearing a dark jacket, dark pants, and a grey sweatshirt, which wasn't the usual attire of Neal Caffrey, not even taking into account that lately, Caffrey's attire was supposed to be more on the orange side. Second, because said grey sweatshirt turned red on the left side. Red like blood.

"Are you wounded?"

Okay, the disbelief in the agent's voice might have made him sound a bit uncaring, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out why Neal Caffrey, out of supermax and wounded, would come to the FBI office where he worked. It simply didn't sound logical at all.

Caffrey looked down at his possible wound, acting almost as if he had forgotten about it.

 _"Oh, that..."_

The younger man pulled his sweatshirt and the T-shirt underneath upwards, giving Peter an eyeful of abs the FBI agent would never have thought the conman to have... as well as a bloody bullet hole which had bleed all over his stomach.

 _"...nothing we can do about it now."_

"Are you kidding me? What are you even doing standing there?! You need to go to the hospital!"

Caffrey took a step back, but not in time that the FBI agent couldn't grab his arm and drag him downstair if needed. Or, at least, Peter tried. His hand went right through the younger man's arm, and wasn't that disturbing?

Peter Burke stared, uncertain of what to do at this point, of what to think really, at his own hand.

Then he looked up and back at Caffrey, who was giving his a sad smile.

 _"As I said, nothing left to do about that. I think I'm a bit too dead for a hospital to do me any good at this point."_

"Are you... Are you a ghost? Since when do ghosts even exists? And if you are a ghost, what in hell are you doing here of all places? No wait, more importantly, what were you doing out of jail? And who killed you? Why did they kill you? How..."

Neal took yet another step backwards, his smile slipping into nothingness.

 _"Calm down a minute, FBI. I know you have that instinctive urge to investigate, but really, I can't say much, only that I got myself out of jail long ago, and that I was trying to right a wrong when I got shot. My killers have certainly already been taken care of, and if not, no one will find them now. And no, I have no idea why I am a ghost, or why here of all places."_

Burke gave him a suspicious look, which, okay, Neal might have deserved. He wasn't the most truthful man on earth. But he really didn't see the point of lying right now, and, seriously, shouldn't the FBI agent be a bit more overwhelmed by the fact that he had a live ghost, or, you know, whatever he wanted to call it, in front of him?

"You cannot say, can you?"

Neal gave him a big, wide-eyed look of innocence.

 _"Confidential."_

"Sure."

And, maybe, maybe Neal was just a bit relieved that the man wasn't believing him right now, even if it was the truth. CIA work was confidential... and he didn't want Burke poking around Bryce Larkin, not when it could alert the higher-ups that Bryce was very far from real. Neal had worked very hard to make Bryce believable, but the persona wouldn't hold long if they ever heard of Neal Caffrey, and noticed that strangely, he looked just like Bryce.

Sure, no one could do anything more to him, but still...

Perhaps Neal wanted to keep Bryce's years of hard work safe.

Burke sighed, and went to sit down in a chair, intellectually exhausted.

"Obviously I can't threaten you with legal consequences now... So I have to pretend I believe you."

 _"Yeah, you do that."_

"Great... Since you're here, why don't you help me figuring these cases out?"

Neal's glance turned to a stack of waiting files, back to Peter Burke, then to the White Collar office in general. A big grin appeared on his face, he arched his eyebrows, and there was something close to delight in his eyes. The FBI agent immediately wondered why he had suggested him to help.

 _"I could be your ghost consultant, Peter! I can call you Peter, can't I, Agent Burke?"_

"Absolutely not!"

The kicked puppy look Peter received for that refusal almost made him change his mind, but the FBI agent could already tell he wouldn't last with Caffrey if he didn't stand his ground from the beginning. Not that he was certain whether or not he could do that for long.

Peter's eyes flittered back to Caffrey's wound, and he cringed.

"I don't even want to think about how I going to explain why I have a bleeding ghost as a CI."

Neal followed the agent's gaze, and winced too.

 _"Perhaps... I can try to do something about it... I think."_

"What do you..."

Peter hadn't finished his sentence that he jumped several feets away from the ghost, his heart beating an unhealthy rhythm.

Caffrey wasn't wearing his dark attire anymore, but black suit pants with white shirt and loose tie. And he was literally covered in blood, his shirt actually white and red, his hair longer and in disarray, a trail of dried blood over his left temple. He actually looked deader than before.

The ghost, having noticed Peter's fright, looked at himself in unpleased surprise.

 _"That's not what I was aiming for... Sorry you had to see this. I'll just..."_

Neal focused again, and the next moment he didn't look like Bryce the first time he died, but rather like himself in the middle of a large con. Designer suit, perfect hair, smooth smile.

He knew he'd revert to a less savory appearance the moment he'd stop focusing.

But the afterlife sounded like so much fun right now, he was totally willing to do the effort.


	5. Stronghold of Seven - chapter 1

_Okay, so... This is firstly a Grimm x White Collar crossover, but I still post the first chapter in 'Forged Books' so that you know where to look if you're interested in a little Bryce-really-is-Neal story crossed with another story. The story itself will be in the White Collar x Grimm section._

* * *

 _Eric Renard managed to bring Nick Burkhardt to France for a little brainwashing. When Nick woke up, though, he wasn't alone in a cell. There was another man there, chained to a wall too. A stranger named Neal Caffrey, who has been a prisoner for years already... and who really'd like to break free. Turns out Nick and Neal have a lot in common._

* * *

 _Sooo... Sure, I already have what, eeerh... 8 stories going on, and I have absolutely no idea how I'm going to update it all but weeell... Perhaps I just need a story for each fandom I'm obsessing over or I can't do it? ( Not possible, I know ). At this point, I believe I should just enjoy the chaos._

 _Anyway;_  
 _This is mostly a Grimm story, main crossover with White Collar, and undertone of Chuck, because, hell, Bryce!Neal is just perfect to throw in the middle of Grimm. And it's totally not to imagine two attractive guys chained to a wall in between beatings ( no, I swear ). There's a story, really._  
 _This first chapter, though, is mostly about establishing the crossover. At the end of season 2 of Grimm, Nick was brought to France by cargo rather than plane, which means his little zombie crisis didn't prevent anything. At the end of season 1 of White Collar, Neal was found out as a grimm, and Adler brought him to the royals, meaning Neal spent 3 years prisoner before Nick's arrival. Chuck is post-everything, obviously, and will only pops out from time to time except for Neal being completely badass when he actually tries._

* * *

 **Stronghold of Seven - Chapter 1: This is not the vacation I asked for**

Nick could taste dried blood on his lips.

For the first thing he realized as he regained consciousness, it wasn't exactly reassuring. In fact, the way he was coming back to himself, not in his bed and simply waking up, but more like he had been left to dangle unconscious after having been knocked out badly, it all spelled trouble. Not that Nick wasn't used to trouble. He might be the definition of trouble since his grimm heritage had come into play.

His aunt was killed, Juliette had been in a magical coma from which she had woken up only to forget everything about him, Hank had almost died because of that hexenbeist, Wu too for that matter, his captain had proved to actually be a royal from Austria intent on manipulating everyone, and overall, Nick evaded attempts on his life once a week when he was being lucky.

Nick was a police detective, sure he had signed up for the dangerous job, but not to that point!

Despite all that, though, despite the wesen who all thought he wanted to decapitate them, despite the double life he was forced to live because he knew things no one would believe, Nick smiled bitterly, he couldn't imagine not being a grimm anymore. The dried blood on his lips cracked.

When his grimm abilities had emerged, Nick had firstly been overwhelmed by the radical change in his vision of the world. He hadn't been in any condition to notice it, but now... Time had opened his eyes, you could say.

Being a grimm gave him access to a whole new world, to the truth about wesen and what hides behind the mask. It was a diversity he couldn't imagine living without anymore.

But it wasn't only that. It was more, much more than that.

A grimm, Nick had found out, was faster, stronger than a nomal human, than most wesen even. They healed better than most, had a better sight even without taking into account the fact they could see wesen, were immune to some magical influences, and their fighting skills, without or with any kind of weapons, were basically instinctual. As he had learned after his temporary blindness, his body compensated for any weakness, evolving, almost, into something better, sharper, harder to kill, and remaining so even after the weakness was done with.

He had been these things too, back when he had been only a kehrseite, but not that much. He had been good, but humanly, normally so. Now, his abilities bordered on superhuman, only not that much that it'd be completely obvious.

And Nick had realized after a time, he was feeling complete as a grimm. As if he had had all these possibilities before, but had been kept from getting there, from even noticing them. Being a grimm was normal now. It had always been to him, it's just that he hadn't realized before.

He wouldn't trade his troubled life, not for anything less than saving the lives of others.

Which didn't mean he liked the situation he was in, right now, much.

In fact, Nick didn't like it at all. He could feel the iron shackles on his wrists and ankles, keeping him unable to move, standing up with his limbs almost stretched. Wherever he was right now, his hosts weren't keen on comfort. Not his comfort, at least.

Nick tore his eyes open with difficulty.

"So you're awake..."

He didn't register right away that someone had just talked to him, too busy trying to see something more than blurry lines and spots of light hindering his sight.

"Or perhaps not so much. They really did a number on you, didn't they?"

Nick blinked. Two tears moistened his eyes, and his sight cleared.

There was another man in the room... cell... dungeon... A young man, possibly around his age, in fact, with blue eyes, a sharp jaw, dark brown hair. Closely shaved and clothed in a dark t-shirt and black pants, the whole failing to hide the blue bruises under his left eye and all around his neck. No welcoming smile to speak of, but in the man's situation, Nick wouldn't smile either.

Actually, Nick and the stranger were basically in the same situation, chained to a wall with ancient shackles, the kind you couldn't slip out of if they were put the right way. They certainly weren't about to feel welcomed.

Nick tried to stretch a bit, but his chains only made him fall forward, to be stopped in his fall abruptly. He scowled at the chains, at the wall he could feel behind him, at the cell in general.

"Tell me we don't have to sleep like this."

The other man gave him a wry smile, which Nick didn't like at all. Here he was, stuck in an underground cell if the light was anything to go on, because of...

Because of what exactly?

"How the hell am I here? Where is here to begin with? What happene..."

Oh. Images flashed before his eyes, of running on top of a container, fighting the cracher-mortel, falling down in a container... And then what? Right, the wesen had gotten him. And Nick had fallen unconscious under the cracher-mortel's poison.

He snarled as he realized what had likely happened.

"Freaking royals."

The stranger on the wall opposite chuckled darkly, rattled his chains a bit as if to make a point.

"Tell me about it..."

Nick stayed silent for a moment, simply staring at the stranger, wondering where exactly they were, why the man was here too, if he had done anything to anger the House of Kronenberg.

The other man eventually cleared his throat.

"Neal Caffrey. Pleasure to meet you, but you are...?"

For a moment Nick was tempted to lie, but really, why bother? It wasn't as if his captors didn't know who he was, what he was. Caffrey had nothing to gain by knowing his name, and Nick doubted that, on the off chance the stranger would hate him for one reason or another – read, grimm – the man was in any position to do anything to him. They kind of were tied up right now. Both of them.

That, he figured, had to be bondings circumstances.

"Nick Burkhardt. I don't suppose I could call the hotel staff to complain?"

Neal really looked at the stranger the guards had brought in a few hours before, completely unconscious and very grey, so grey the thief had thought for a moment he was dead. The greyness had receded, and the guy looked much more alive, but he still was covered in scratches and a bruise was starting to show over his right eyebrow. Not that Neal was in a much better state and would dare to compare.

"The staff isn't very friendly around here. Hundjägers, mostly. Or, actually, in two years, no, was it three, now? - in three years I haven't seen anyone else except for visits. And the training, of course. I can't forget the delightful Marie-Catherine Robespierre. Or Adler. Or Hannah Schwartz. And, from time to time, Eric Renard comes by and tell me how disappointed he is that he can't trust me."

Neal shrugged, ignoring the discomfort from the chains. After three years, he had learned not to even think about them. If he did, he'd just kill himself right now. Only, he couldn't even do that.

"So, mostly hundjägers. They don't talk much. And I try not to talk to them much either, because it usually ends with me snarking at them, them punching or kicking me, _et caetera_."

The stranger, Burkhardt, sighed.

"So, we're right in the middle of a castle controlled by the Verrat, for the sake of the House of Kronenberg, probably somewhere in Europe, and the guards are likely to beat us up whenever they feel like it. This is not the vacation I asked for."

Neal snorted a bit. It had been quite a long time since he had had a true conversation which didn't revolve around why he should do what Prince Eric Renard asked instead of being stubborn.

"If it relieve you, when they brought you in, they were in a bad state too. I have no idea what you did to get thrown down here, but the Verrat members didn't like it. _Ergo_ , I'm pretty sure I'd like it."

Burkhardt sighed, reminded of his situation, no doubt.

"I have absolutely no idea, to be frank. I was in Portland when a cracher-mortel came to wreak havoc in the city by creating zombies. He'd spit in his victims' face, and his tetrodotoxin lost them into a trance-like state after some time looking deader than dead. He got me, and I suppose they used the time I was 'dead' to smuggle me out of the USA in a coffin... but I like to think I've reacted badly to the violent stage and it caused them some... discomfort. I... think I was in a container on a ship. I'm not sure. The only thing I remember right now is me kneeing a hundjäger's nose as another one tried to get me shot with... with the cure, perhaps?"

Neal's eyebrows went up.

"What did you do to warrant this kind of trouble, exactly? And first of all, what are you? Laufer, wesen, grimm?"

"If I tell you, will you flee with a terrified scream?"

"I guess grimm, then. And in case you hadn't noticed, I'm a bit tied up right now. I am no flight risk. I should have known, though. None of the others prisoners here are given the same treatment as me, and yet here you are..."

Burkhardt raised an eyebrow at Neal, who went on noting the similarities between them. Roughly the same height, lean and muscular but discreetly so, dark hair, blue eyes, well defined jaw... Though Neal was more on the beautiful side of handsome, while the stranger was more masculine. Damn. Once again, Neal's good looks made him the cute one.

"Grimm too, then?"

Eh, the man was sharp. Neal liked that. Now he just had to determine if Burkhardt was a smart ass too. Perhaps it was a grimm thing. That is, for a grimm who could think by themselves. The other ones he had met so far were a bit too dedicated to the House of Kronenberg. Not that Neal doubted Burkhardt to be one of them. If the stranger was, he wouldn't be here to begin with.

"Unfortunately."

It wasn't completely obvious, but Neal, used as he was to read people, noticed as Bukhardt tensed a bit at the admission. Neal himself couldn't say he truthfully wasn't a little wary of his new... roommate now that he knew him to be a grimm, too. They hadn't exactly the best of reputations, even those who weren't working for the royal families.

The fact that the both of them were stuck in Eric Renard's cell could mean two things – or, really, three, but the second one couldn't be. One, they were both too independent to the royals' taste. Two, they were both too bloodthirsty to be let out, which Neal knew for a fact not to be true on his account at least. Three, one of them was independent, the other was endezeichen.

Nick Burkhardt didn't look like an endezeichen grimm, and Neal liked to think he himself didn't appear as a barbarian either even after three years down here, but the thing with grimms was that they didn't look particularly murderous just because they were grimms. Marie-Catherine Robespierre did look like a model for _Vogue_. When she wasn't, you know, beheading enemies of the House of Kronenberg.

Now, both Neal and Burkhardt being tense around the others could mean they, actually, were both nice people. Only, endezeichen grimms were just as wary of other grimms, whom they thought were betraying their kind... Historically, that is. Neal didn't think there were any endezeichen grimms left in this time.

But an exception could happen...

Burkhardt was the first to speak again; Neal could see the sharpness in his eyes, pushing aside the man's gentle nature.

"Why are you here, Caffrey?"

Neal squinted at him, channeling Bryce Larkin as much as he could. It had been a long time since he hadn't used that particular persona officially, but his dealing with Robespierre, Adler, Schwartz and Eric Renard had forced him to bring out the CIA agent more often than not anyway.

"Bryce Larkin" was very good at appearing cold and uncaring. He irked Robespierre and Renard, and disturbed Adler.

"I could return the question, you know?"

"Of course you could. But it wouldn't get us anywhere if we both play that card, would it?"

Burkhardt was right, of course. It puzzled Neal a bit, though. He wasn't used to being honest, he hadn't been for a long time; here, of all places, being honest wasn't a good thing. Nick Burkhardt, on the other hand, made it look very simple: he was being honest, without giving too much away. And he was good at it.

Neal had been good at it too, long ago. But that was before he started living more than three lives at a time. That was before he heard the truth about his father.

Neal still felt like he should point out the obvious.

"I could still lie to you, then."

Burkhardt gave him a wan smile which quickly turned into a wince, as he probably felt the pain from his bruises settling in. Neal was used to those, now; and not particularly liking it either. But he guessed the other grimm was used to being hurt, anyway. Grimms rarely escaped repeated injuries, unless their name was Neal Caffrey, blatantly ignoring the obvious.

Repeated injuries, ah! Burkhardt hadn't seen anything yet. He hadn't spent months, years in this damned castle.

He'd get used to it, though.

Neal had.

"I'm good at telling liars apart, you know."

Neal knew. Grimms always were good judges of character, especially when they managed to put aside any personal feelings. But Neal was an even better liar.

"And even if I wasn't, what do you have to lose by telling me the truth? Either you don't deserve to be a prisoner, and that's the very reason you are here, or you've been brought down here to get my trust and make me speak, in which case you wouldn't be telling me the truth anyway."

"Fair enough. Now, where do I begin...?"

Burkhardt had the politeness not to answer "by the beginning", probably aware that nothing grimm was easy to explain unless you were endezeichen. Endezeichen grimms had only one very simple story: find the wesen, corner the wesen, kill the wesen.

Neal tried to find a more comfortable position, but there was no comfortable position for someone chained to a wall as tightly as they both were. He knew that, after all this time. He still tried.

"Well, let's start with the current grimms-royals relationship. The House of Kronenberg, and probably the six other families, have only a handful of grimms to do their binding. We are quite rare, and not many of us are more than ghost stories. We like to stay under the radar for obvious reasons. So when the royal families find an unattached grimm... they try to see if they wouldn't be a great asset. The House of Kronenberg has three grimms working for them, a french woman, a german woman, and an austrian man, and the other families have even less."

"There actually are grimms still working for the royals?"

"Oh believe me, you'll see Robespierre and Schwartz soon enough, if you don't believe me. I've never met Rield, though. Anyway, the point is, we are rare, and difficult to catch. I was unfortunate enough to catch the attention of someone interested even before my abilities awakened, and when he found me again... His men noticed I was even more interesting than he had first believed. Hence why I am here."

Burkhardt corrected, as if he could read Neal's thoughts.

"Hence why you have been brought here. Not why you are still here."

" _Touché_. The thing is, Adler is part of a grimm family, but not a grimm himself, and my own family had no 'awakened' grimm in three generations. He shouldn't have noticed me at all... if I hadn't been a rather successful con artist attempting to rob him of the millions he himself was planning to disappear with, not that I knew it at the time."

If he had, Neal wouldn't have even tried to con Vincent Adler. Or, he wouldn't have hesitated at the last moment, if anything. Now he wondered when Adler had made him out, when the older man had realized he was a fake. If Neal prided himself in one thing, it was that whatever he was faking, he faked it pretty well... perhaps better than someone legitimate.

He had been wondering if Adler's perspicacity wasn't, in fact, due to his grimm ascendance.

"Adler wears many different hats, as it is, and he was searching for something I could have helped with. Anyway, he kept an eye on me for years... He's probably the only one who knows one of my false identities got recruited by the CIA, actually."

Burkhardt arched both eyebrows at that. Before the other man could ask, though, Neal continued.

"Agent Bryce Larkin...; don't ask, it sounds good, but it wasn't fun at all. I even died twice because of my brilliant idea to be a star agent. Then I ditched Bryce, my girlfriend disappeared, I escaped of supermax, made a deal with the FBI to work as a white collar CI, got friends... And Adler decided it was time for me to be useful. His men abducted me three years ago, which is when he found out I had become a grimm. Adler thought pleasing the royals was more important to him than countinuing whatever it was that he wanted me to do, and he brought me to Eric Renard. Since then, they've been trying to make me a good soldier and all that. I could have faked my loyalty and escaped, but Adler knows me too well, they realized they had to break me completely... which they haven't been able to do yet, not with my time working for the CIA. What makes me so interesting, my CIA and conman skills, is also what's making it so difficult for them to trust me."

Neal stopped his retelling then, to glance at Nick Burkhardt, fully expecting him not to believe half of what he had just said. A liar who also happened to be a grimm and had supposedly conned the CIA and was now resisting three years in these dungeons because of his morality? Neal wouldn't have believed it himself if someone else had been trying to sell him that particular tale.

The thief was surprised to see in the man's eyes something like acceptance, even if he didn't seem to completely believe him. Burkhardt wasn't trusting him yet, but he was willing to consider he might be telling the truth. He wasn't being naive, no. Just, he seemed able to see more of Neal than the thief had first thought.

"CIA agent, really?"

"Hey, I was reckless when I was young! And it seemed cool, at first. Who never dreamt of being a superspy? At first you don't get what it really means to have to kill someone, even for the greater good. And you don't think anything can happen to you. To others, yes, but not to you."

The other grimm seemed about to retort, but obviously thought better of it.

Neal, suddenly curious of Burkhardt's past, leaned towards his cellmate... or at least, tried. The chains made that attempt rather useless, though.

"What about you?"

There was a moment of silence, during which Burkhardt looked like he was considering the level of honesty he should display. Neal could say, though, that the man had just thrown the precautions out the metaphorical window when he answered.

"I have one of the seven keys the royals want."

Well, that was direct.

Not that Neal knew what the man was talking about.

"One of the seven keys?"

"Never heard that story?"

Neal winced a bit at his revealed ignorance of many grimm-and-wesen things. He knew more than well enough the relationships grimm-royals, but it stopped there. He hadn't exactly had more than a crash course in grimmness, more than happy to stay discreet while working for the FBI.

"Long story short, my grimm abilities only appeared after my second death happened. I think it might not have kicked out at all if my heart hadn't stopped for two whole minutes, for the second time already. There's no exact science about grimms, but the stress and the danger probably triggered it in my case. I completely panicked after my first wesen, who, fortunately for me, was only a mauzhertz, and who somehow explained to me what was going on in between two heart attacks. I checked myself back in jail, where everyone thought 'Neal Caffrey' still was, and it surprisingly proved to be a good way to escape notice as a grimm, since, you know, non-violent prisoners should rather not look anyone in the eyes."

Burkhartd muttered something about it not being that simple, then again maybe it was just him who couldn't help but cross paths with wesen who woged in fright and either accused him of attempted murder, or were the one to attempt murder on him. The truth was, Neal had used his deal with the wardens to the best, staying as much as he could in his individual cell, just in case. The two times he hadn't been able to keep his secret a secret... Let's say channeling Bryce had been very useful to scare the shit out of his fellow inmates as a grimm. They stayed silent about what he was, he didn't drown them in the toilets. Not that he'd have, but they didn't know that.

"The point being, I somehow managed not to be recognized as a grimm after that, either by spotting wesen before they noticed me or by trying not to encourage anger or stress, which could result in a disastrous woge if my interlocutor turned out to be wesen. Or by just walking out whenever something happened involving wesen, if they couldn't actually say who, if not what, I was."

Burkhardt snorted.

"Then I'm just unlucky, I'm sure. Like, how can a police detective avoids situation of extreme feelings? No such luck, eh. 'Sorry sir, but your wife was killed this morni...' and it's happening again. 'No, I won't behead you. No, I was not the one who killed your wife. No, I just want to do my job.'"

"Detective?"

"Yeah... or, I suppose, I was before this abduction. Now I'm a missing detective. Not that I'm complaining, you know. It's not as if they're doing all that just because I happen to have a medieval key which might lead to an old secret treasure the royal families want more than anything."

Neal didn't know what to answer to that. He doubted anything could really be said at this point. And he certainly wasn't the person to go to about hope and getting out of here. Not after three years chained to that wall.

He almost felt glad to have gotten some pleasant company. Almost.

He'd rather talk with Burkhardt somewhere else, preferably with no hundjägers anywhere near. Somewhere without shackles and dungeons. Somewhere where none of his very distant cousins and no princes would try to brainwash him into being a murderous tool.

Neal was pretty sure Burkhardt shared that wish.

They didn't have a choice, though.

Which reminded him he should probably warn Burkhardt about what his life would be from now on, if he was right in his assumption that the other grimm had just been volunteered for the official grimm rehab according to the royal families.

"Listen, if you're going to be treated as I am, you will be out of these chains often enough, but don't think you can just walk out either. There are Verrat agents everywhere in this castle, the prince Eric Renard lives upstairs, and we've probably been microchipped, because the one time I managed to get out, they found me under one hour. And while Renard would be overjoyed to see how resourceful you could be as an asset, he wouldn't hesitate to have you tortured as punishment."

Nick was somewhat startled out of his thoughts by Caffrey's words, which made him realize, again, that he was indeed a prisoner here, and certainly not in a temporary situation. Their discussion so far had kind of made him forget how serious his situation was, but now the full reality of his abuction was coming back to him.

The fact that he had no idea of what had happened to Juliette, to his friends, to the captain wasn't helping. He didn't even know if they were still alive to be worried about his disappearance. What if they hadn't been able to handle the zombies back in Portland? What if Eric Renard had decided it would be cautionary to further go after them, just to make sure they wouldn't attempt anything?

Nick gulped, the irritant shackles heavier on his wrists and ankles.

What had he done to deserve his life to be so thoroughly torn apart?

Nick forced himself to remain calm no matter what. He had to if he wanted to last here. He had no doubt that Caffrey's continued existence and resistance after three years had everything to do with the man's control and nothing to do with Eric Renard's leniency.

So Nick did what he could, and asked for details.

"Advices for survival?"

Caffrey's face turned to stone, eyes dark with unpleasant memories. The man wasn't reaching for his bruises, but Nick could tell it was mostly because the chains were preventing him from doing that.

The other grimm took a deep breath.

"You want to be extra-careful with Marie-Catherine Robespierre, brown hair, grey eyes; not only with the hundjägers. She's the highest ranking grimm, and she'll come by to tell us how foolish and naive we are not to follow the mighty House of Kronenberg. Adler is not someone I like, but he will mostly do 'experiments' to see if you're still alive and to what point you can be useful as a grimm; he's not particularly dangerous. Hannah Schwartz comes in between assignments, to test our combat skills; she's deadly, but not an altogether bad person, which is a dangerous combination for our mental resistance. And please, when the prince comes down here, keep your mouth shut as much as you can. You'll want the bonus points for when you really can't keep it in anymore."

Neal Caffrey had barely finished talking that Nick heard footsteps in the distance.


	6. RFAL - Aces

_Neal Caffrey put an end to his persona of Bryce Larkin after the second time he died. Being Neal Caffrey had always been better, anyway. From time to time, though, Neal'd really prefer if he could deal with things like he did as Bryce._

* * *

 _This is not a story, but rather a collection of one-shots all revolving around the same theme. It could probably be read as a discontinuous story, Neal hiding a part of his past, but it isn't in that because something happened in one chapter hasn't necessarily happened in the others. You could see this a serie of what-if? moments where canon could hav eturned around but didn't, I suppose._

* * *

 _Keller was there, taunting him, and Neal really wished, for a moment, that the man would stop. White Collar, season 1, ep 12_

* * *

 **Remnants from another life - Aces**

Neal starred at Keller, gritting his teeth in anger as the man taunted him about his deal with the FBI, about his restrained freedom, about Kate. Matthew Keller definitely wasn't his favorite person. Hadn't been for quite some time, now.

Long ago, Neal had kind of liked Keller, when the both of them were newbies – talented ones, obviously, but newbies nonetheless. Keller had yet had to become the bastard he now was. He hadn't been a murderer, for one thing.

Then again, Neal had to admit his own hands weren't exactly free of spilled blood. He had killed more than once, not that anyone knew, and certainly not Keller. If the other criminal had known, he might not have been here, taunting Neal just to see how much would be too much.

If Keller had been aware of Neal's persona of Bryce Larkin, the one who had no qualms about killing those who deserved it, he certainly wouldn't be relying on Neal's perimeter to keep him safe either. "Bryce Larkin" had been very good at hacking things and making programs which worked for the official stuff. It kind of had been his job, as a scientist working on the Intersect, to handle difficult informatic code. Breaking into the marshals' secured network without the proper tools had taken time, yes, but it wasn't that impossible.

As had been writing unconspicuous code to undo the three miles perimeter while making it look like everything was normal to anyone who would want to check where Neal Caffrey was, so long a they weren't actually looking at the code with professional eyes.

No, Keller knew many things about Neal Caffrey, but he certainly didn't know a thing about Bryce Larkin. Or else he wouldn't be here, testing him for a reaction. Keller wouldn't risk it if he knew the exact extent of Neal's skills, the real limits of what Neal was willing to do.

Neal Caffrey was non-violent, except when it came to that particular alias. Bryce Larkin, former CIA scientist and field agent, currently believed dead. Neal didn't like violence, but his time as Bryce had taught him it could really be the only valid solution in some circumstances. Saying violence wasn't the solution only worked so long as you opponents didn't believe in killing hundreds for their own benefits.

Afraid to do the necessary? Certainly not. But perhaps Neal's and Keller's defintion of necessity weren't quite the same. Neal valued human lives over what he could gain from a con. But he did not value one life over hundreds. Being a criminal wasn't a problem for him, being a killer, he could deal with, but being a murderer? Never. Neal had always drawn the line there. For himself as well as for the CIA.

He tried not to fall into violence easily. Of course, when it became personal, it wasn't that simple.

Not that Bryce Larkin had ever had many attachments. It wasn't as if the alias had been real.

Neal, on the other hand, had friends. People he cared for. People who weren't always aware of him, too, for the simple reason they didn't know he existed. They knew Bryce, Gary, Steve... But not Neal Caffrey. It hurt to think some of his friends weren't friends with him for all that.

He'd still defend them with his life if needs be.

It wasn't surprising, though, that taunting him with people who actually knew Neal Caffrey would get a rise out of him, more so than with anyone else. Taunting him with Kate of all things, when she had left him, basically gone missing while implying someone had leverage over her...

Keller was lucky that Kate knew him beforehand, Neal thought sarcastically. She'd have told Neal if Keller had been the one to threaten her. Because if the two hadn't known each other, if Kate had had no means of identifying Matthew Keller... Neal might have believed the other criminal was the one behind it all.

And let's say it wouldn't have ended well for Keller.

Keller said one more thing, one too many about Kate, and Neal took an angry step towards him. His tracking anklet went off, alerting him that he was at the end of his allowed perimeter, and that he should really step back if he didn't want to end up back in supermax.

Keller smirked, intent on continuing his taunting, as always. Had Neal not been this angry right now, he might have sneered back at the man. Keller really had no idea who he really was, did he?

Neal didn't stop. The anklet went back to green as his program took over. Keller's smirk faltered.

"Be very careful, Keller. You believe you know all my aces... but obviously you don't."


	7. Still sticking around - part 2

_And here is a continuation of ghost!Neal, this time with the presence of Team Intersect._

* * *

 **Still sticking around - part 2**

 _"I'm just saying I can go in there and get all the info you want, Peter! You just have to send me in. This is exactly my kind of job."_

The FBI agent refrained from rolling his eyes at his insistent and ghostly CI. It didn't seem to matter that Peter had already said no, apparently, and Neal had to try and get him to change his mind. Even if there was no way in hell Peter's decision would change. This time, it just wouldn't work, and Neal had to know that.

" _I know you somehow upped your conning skills to legendary level, to the point you don't even need the whole close quarters thing anymore, but McAvoy shakes hands to seal a deal. Do I need to remind you what happens when you touch people, Neal?"_

The CI's brilliant smile looked a bit less real, all of a sudden.

" _I don't touch them."_

"Exactly. You don't touch anything. You can't touch anything. You pass through things, instead. Hence why you cannot go in there to pretend you're interested in McAvoy's business. If you did you'd be immediately made as 'problematic'."

"Problematic" was an understatement. Since what had happened a few months ago, Neal's state was a bit more than problematic. Sure, it made him completely safe no matter the situation and the number of machine guns – though Peter hadn't been pleased that one time with the machine guns; wonder why. Sure, it allowed him to walk in just any place and listen in if he wanted – Neal liked to think he had already been nearly there before, but well, nothing quite like being in this state for that. But it also made it impossible for him to touch anything, defend anyone, or even wearing a recorder.

"Problematic" wasn't the right word. Impossible was more like it.

But the White Collar division of the Manhattan FBI office had deemed the subject taboo. Everyone just pretended Neal was a normal CI, on contract – the contract was for show, but no one needed to know that. They sent him undercover, as long as there wasn't a need for physical contact. They used his insight, and he took part in the inquiries. No problem with that. He was that one well-dressed CI who snarked at other criminals. Except he wasn't officially there.

They certainly did their best to forget that Neal was dead. Yes, a ghost. From what Neal knew, he was the only dead guy in the world in this situation, and there wasn't really an explanation he could give, but the facts were he was here, and ghostly so. Mozzie was having a field day trying to figure this out without anyone learning of his little supernatural secret.

Neal guessed it was for the best, really. He didn't want to become an attraction, and there was no way in hell Hughes or anyone else in the division would say a word about their ghost CI. They didn't want to end up in a mental ward, and it was better not to try and explain that to their superiors. What could they have said anyway? You know that one criminal we caught some years ago? Well now he's working as our CI. And, just so you know, he's dead. Yeah, he's a ghost. I have no freaking idea how, boss. Sure, it stays between us.

No, it just wouldn't.

Neal was totally content being Peter's ghost partner, doubly so, at that, since he was both dead and not official. Working for the White Collar division of the FBI was fun. The agents were way more pleasant than his former colleagues at the CIA – not that he had told them that, since, you know, no one knew about his time as Bryce Larkin. The only things he really regretted was that he couldn't do the manual work himself anymore. But that came from being a ghost, not from working with Peter.

No wonder Neal was restless, though, and eager to use the skills he could actually use. Like conning people – sorry, Peter, conning criminals – into telling him their secrets.

He almost pouted.

" _Still, I could have gotten us that info..."_

The long-suffering look Peter gave him almost had Neal petulantly insisting.

"We just have to speak to someone else. Actually, Diana found someone to whom we should talk. We're leaving in twenty minutes. Business attire for you. I don't need to tell you to gear up."

The FBI agent didn't need to, indeed. Neal couldn't "gear up". He was a ghost. He couldn't change clothes.

He could, on the other hand, switch appearances between the various looks of his lifetime. Granted, being able to turn back into a toddler held little to no interest, except when he needed not to look suspicious after having been made, but the ghost ability did allow him to access his whole wardrobe, from casual to in disguise to dressed up to an utter lack of clothes if needed – strangely enough, Peter didn't seem to think the last one could come in handy one day; Neal begged to differ.

They were in Peter's car – fortunately Neal wasn't passing through the car or anything as problematic, just like he could actually stand on the ground instead of sinking towards the heart of the Earth; Neal didn't fancy finding out what a magma core looked like – when he finally thought to ask where they were going.

"Our potential witness is currently attending a conference on the other side of Manhattan, which is a blessing in itself considering he lives in Los Angeles. I've called, and he agreed to see us as soon as the conference ends. Conveniently, that's the time it'll take us to get there, more or less."

" _Right. And that's a conference about...?"_

Peter winced a bit, and looked as if Neal was torturing him to betray his nation's secrets as he did so – Neal's Bryce persona was used to the facial expression.

"Art."

Uh. Neal hadn't expected that. Why would Peter be so despaired by the idea of meeting someone at an art conference? It wasn't as if Neal was going to wander around and speak with about everyone because art was damn interesting and he'd have liked to be there for the lecture. There really was no risk that Neal would get that easily side-tracked. Obviously, Neal was much more interested in the potential witness account about his least-favorite mortgage fraud culprit.

Okay, now was the moment he could focus on how to get away from Peter and his uninteresting interview without the FBI agent noticing too soon.

Though Neal kept his face completely blank and innocent, Peter could tell the ghost was planning his escape to the world of art aficionados. The very fact that Neal looked innocent was a tell to anyone who knew him well enough. Neal did not look innocent, unless he wasn't. Which was pretty illogical, Peter had to admit, but it still was the truth. Whenever Neal wasn't actually plotting something, he looked mischievious, bored, or dangerously dashing. Never innocent.

Well, it wasn't as if Peter could force Neal to do anything, anyway. Dead and immaterial people were difficult to put on a leash, even when they were criminals. Peter often found himself doing damage control, lately.

Or, at least, ensuring no one would try to grab the ghost and choke him in public – which, obviously, would not go well at all, and would prob ably blow Neal's secret.

They arrived at the conference in silence. Neal looked entirely too gentle and calm not to be planning something, but Peter had to look for Nathan Hearthstone amongst the attendees of the conference. He didn't have the time or the patience to check on Neal every other second.

The FBI agent soon noticed a group of people who stood out a bit, though perhaps not as much as one could expect given their stature. Nathan Hearthstone and his entourage, private security if Peter knew anything, were apart from the main crowd, the older man in the middle, watched over by a very tall man, another tall man who was also dangerously bulky, and a blond woman who looked like both a model and a pro sportswoman in a suit.

Hearthstone looked vaguely anxious, but not quite jumpy either.

He had obviously been aware that trouble could come his way, even before Peter's phone call, because he didn't look like the kind of guy who hired private security on a daily basis. Then again, considering what the FBI knew about McAvoy, and the link between the two men, it wasn't a stretch to guess that McAvoy could try something to end the witness.

Peter wasn't much of a fan of private security, especially when these people kept him from doing his job, but he could appreciate the need for them. The police couldn't keep every potential victim safe when nothing had happened yet.

He just hoped these guys wouldn't be difficult to deal with.

The FBI agent took a moment to consider, and eventually reached for his credentials before walking to the small group, so that the private security bodyguards wouldn't try anything seeing him come forwards. Hopefully.

"Nathan Hearthstone?"

The man's eyes jumped immediately to Peter, with a certain nervousness that calmed down when he saw the FBI credentials on display. Peter took a tentative step, observing the bodyguards' reactions carefully, and stopped about one meter away from the potential witness to McAvoy's criminal deeds. While the woman and the kind-looking man seemed only understandably cautious, Peter was almost certain he saw the bulky guy refrain a growl or something like that.

Peter gave him a long, unimpressed stare for that. He had much practice in doing so, truth to be told, especially since he had started working with Neal.

"Peter Burke, FBI. I talked to you on the phone earlier."

Hearthstone gave him a weary smile.

"Yes, I remember, thank you. You said you were working white collar crimes? Shouldn't McAvoy be taken care of by a more... violent division? He isn't exactly what you'd call a white collar criminal..."

"Oh, we aren't the only ones on the investigation, Mr Hearthstone. But just like we got Al Capone on tax evasion, the FBI is looking at McAvoy under various angles. He happens to have dealt in several white collar crimes, from the simplest mortgage frauds to ponzi schemes. And I can tell you Organized Crime will not be happy if White Collar is the one to open the road with substancial proofs, but that's their problem, not mine. As far as I am concerned, the point is to get McAvoy behind bars, not to get any glory out of it."

This time, Bulky Man's grunt was almost appreciative, which could explain why he didn't bother disguising it. Almost being the key word here. The man didn't seem to like the FBI much.

"And these people are...?"

Hearthstone glanced at his security detail, obviously unused to their presence, and eventually shrugged at the kindest individual, as if to tell him to go on from there.

"Carmichael Industry, Agent Burke. Charles Carmichael, Sarah Walker and John Casey. Michael Carmichael is outside, watching the grounds. Mr Hearthstone contacted us as soon as he understood that his life could be in danger because of Linus McAvoy. We hope not to impede your investigation, but I still ask you to be understanding of our concern for our client's security."

"Fair enough. Now, about McAvoy... Wait a minute, where did Neal disappear to?"

Peter looked around the unfamiliar faces of the conference attendees. He couldn't spot his personal trouble magnet of a ghost, despite Neal's fairly tall frame – sure, not as tall as Peter himself, even less when it came to Carmichael and Casey, but taller than most nonetheless – and his brightly attracting good looks that usually got everyone's attention – unless Neal wanted to fade into the background, which he also did very well, to Peter's continued surprise. The FBI agent sighed in exasperation, still unconvinced of why exactly he was putting up with Caffrey's erratic behavior – not that he actually had a choice, because he sure couldn't force a ghost out of his investigations, but Peter certainly didn't make Neal feel unwanted, and perhaps that was the problem?

Sarah Walker glanced at the crowd too, even if she couldn't know who she was looking for anyway... unless she was looking for another typical FBI guy, which would be oh-so-amusing if Peter wasn't exasperated with Neal right now. Neal was just that far from typical, and a whole world away from displaying FBI in his choice of clothes.

"Your partner?"

Oh, Peter didn't even remember what it was like to have an actual, FBI-approved partner. Sure, he worked with Jones and Diana all the time, but they were more like each other's partner, a second team within the team. Peter's partner was definitely Neal.

But Walker had meant FBI partner, Peter could tell.

"My CI. He works investigations with me, he's even terribly good at it, perhaps because he did most of the array of crimes we investigate before he... Eitherway, he must be charming some woman or another right now with talks of Botticelli and Van Gogh. I swear, he's completely impossible to keep out of trouble."

Sarah Walker seemed to smile a bit at Peter's rant, as if remembering her particular days as a baby spy's babysitter, a few years ago. The FBI agent didn't notice, though, because he had finally caught a glimpse of what might be Neal's perfect-hairstyle-to-charm-and-con.

" _Peter! They have a Raphael on displa..."_

Neal had just walked through the crowd, cheerfully joining his FBI friend, when his sentence stopped in the middle, slowly dying away in his throat. His smile seemed just a little bit genuine and assured, and his posture slowed down into a careful stance, several feets away from the group.

Peter, not having caught on the unease right away, simply responded:

"One you didn't steal?"

Then he noticed the nervous look in Neal's eyes. The FBI agent frowned and turned around to look at the source of his CI's anxiety, following his gaze: the Carmichael Industry group. Had Neal stolen something from these people? Had he conned them, once upon a time? It wouldn't be that surprising if it was the case, but would it really warrant such a reaction from Neal?

Nathan Hearthstone seemed just as puzzled as Peter. Carmichael, on the other hand, had gone white as a sheet of paper, and seemed unable to move. Walker looked about to bolt, but unsure as to in which objective – something between running away in denial and strangling Neal in anger. Casey...

John Casey had brought out his gun, and was already raising it to point at Neal. Which wasn't a good idea at all, because if the man fired a shot, the bullet would just pass through Neal and hit someone else, behind the ghost. Not that it'd be a good idea had Neal been material, and, you know, alive to receive the bullet in the middle of his forehead – or anywhere else, really – but Peter was mostly worried about hurting a bystander and blowing open Neal's secret right now.

The incident stayed there, though, thanks to Walker's quick reaction. The woman took half a second to collect her thoughts, and as soon as she processed her colleague's movements, she put a hand on his rising arm and forced it back down slowly.

It was Neal who hissed first, certainly not to attract attention from the crowd, but still shaken by the bulky man's reaction.

" _Casey! Could you please, for once, not try to shoot me the moment you see me?!"_

That, certainly, got Peter's attention. Not only did Neal know these security guys, he also knew them on a slightly antagonistic basis if the reactions were anything to go by... and at the same time he sounded almost familiar when he spoke to them. Which, in Peter's book, didn't match. People you were familiar with did not try to shoot you on sight, most of the time.

Then again, Neal was not your usual human being, with normal acquaintances.

The bulky man holstered his gun again, to Peter's and Hearthstone's relief. He still looked like he might go for Neal's throat anytime soon, though.

"You are supposed to be dead, Larkin. Again. So excuse me if I find your continued survival, for a second time, rather alarming."

Neal tensed a bit as he appreciated the irony of what Casey had just said. Yeah, him too, he would have assumed that if someone was standing right here, before him, as he was doing himself, it was because the person was alive. Especially when it had already happened once before.

The problem being that, this time, Neal really was dead – or Bryce Larkin, for the matter.

" _I did die."_

Casey sneered.

"Well it doesn't seem to have stuck this time either, does it?"

Neal grimaced, not ready to break the news to Chuck or Sarah – he didn't really care about Casey; the guy had shot him more than once, and had even been his first killer, after all.

Peter, though, intervened before things became too problematic.

"Wait a minute. Presentations, please? And what the hell is this all about? Neal, what did you do?"

Neal took a deep breath to calm himself, and let his enxiety sail away... at least, some of it.

" _Long story short, Peter? I created the identity Bryce Larkin to get into college after a con gone wrong; I needed to lay low for a time, and I didn't know Mozzie yet, so no paranoid safehouse. Somehow, Bryce got recruited by the CIA during that time, and he got killed. Twice. The second time, it was too late to revive me, and well... It was in 2009. You know what happened from there."_

Peter blinked a bit, unsure of what to believe. Neal seemed sincere, and he certainly looked way too serious for it to be a lie. Neal didn't do serious, or at least, not that brand of serious, unless he was saying the truth or gambling someone's life; in other words, unless he had no other choice.

So he focused on the most unlikely thing in the story – while knowing Neal did unlikely on a daily basis. Like, say, coming back as a ghost to haunt the FBI White Collar division.

"Did you just say one of your fake identities passed CIA background checks?"

It got a tug at Neal's mouth, and before Peter knew it, the conman was smiling at him, laughter in his eyes, and quite a bit of unwarranted pride lurking around there too. Trust Neal to think playing the CIA was fun business. The guy truly had no self-preservation instincts.

" _I was bored."_

"You were bored. So you got yourself into the CIA, and got killed twice in the process, because you were bored."

Neal seemed to think about his answer for what, half a moment, before he looked back at the FBI agent, an obvious look on his face, to anyone who knew him well enough: the CI was baiting Peter. The agent just wasn't sure in which objective. What was certain, was that Neal sounded way too cheerful about the whole thing.

" _I was very, very bored."_

That seemed to get a reaction from the other people in the group – minus Nathan Hearthstone, who simply did get what was going on, the poor man. Kind Guy still looked beyond shocked and unresponsive, but Walker was now torn between utter disbelief and what looked like slight desparation, and Bulky Man all of a sudden spoke again.

"Stop this pretending, Larkin. Flippancy doesn't fit you, and even if it did, even you aren't insane enough to have tried and conned the CIA just out of boredom."

This seemed to get to Neal, whose face stopped for a moment in seriousness, but the next instant he was grinning – somewhat more sinisterly than usual, Peter had to point out.

" _Am I not, Casey? I'll have you know 'Bryce' is the fake one, and this is my true personality. You obviously don't know me that well, and as such there is no way you could say how 'insane' I truly am. I do things because it entertains me, Casey; what I don't do, it's because it falls against my moral code, not because it is forbidden by the law or what you'd call reckless. Infiltrating the CIA without further purpose than seeing how good a pretender I am... That was brilliant!"_

Peter's blood chilled a bit at Neal's words, and he would have been downright terrified if Neal hadn't been talking "flippantly" as John Casey would have put it. Peter had to admit he had always know Neal was reckless to a fault, always looking for a challenge, and that... That sounded like a challenge the conman could have enjoyed. Had enjoyed.

Neal's voice amost sounded sad as he talked again, to no one in particular, this time.

" _None of you really knew me, anyway."_

Peter, knowing Neal, could more or less tell what was going on in his CI's head. In Neal's heart, too.

Neal truly made friends, sometimes, even when playing a part. There were people who knew one of his personas, and apparently, from Neal's tone, the Carmichael Industry group was amonsgt these people; the looks Neal gave to Walker and Carmichael said enough. He cared about them, enough to be bothered by what they thought of his survival.

But they had never known Neal Caffrey.

They were his friends, but he wasn't theirs. Bryce Larkin was. Not Neal Caffrey.

And, perhaps, each time Neal put on a mask, each time he did his best to appear as someone else, he was truly looking for someone who'd be able to tell. Someone who'd see beyond the mask.

These people hadn't seen beyond Bryce Larkin, like so many before them. They had seen only what he had allowed them to see, some parts, perhaps, which were true, but also a big deal which was as made up as the name "Bryce Larkin". They hadn't been able to see past the persona.

And, maybe, to Neal, it seemed as if they hadn't cared enough to try and see the true him.

For half a second, Neal's appearance flittered back to his bloodied, battered looks.

Finally, Charles Carmichael let out a stangled sound.

"You're really dead, then?"

Neal didn't answer right away. When he did, he sounded bitter to no end.

" _No shit, Sherlock."_

* * *

 _Even without the crossover with White Collar, I've always felt no one ever really tried to understand Bryce much in Chuck's world, not even those who learned the truth about his "betrayal". I mean, let's just see how he was wiped out of the story after his death, with only Sarah speaking once about him. When didn't see one moment of distress from Chuck, after the initial shock of finding Bryce dead, did we? They guy sacrificed absolutely everything, his life, his love, his friendship, and he's just forgotten?_


	8. Which is the ghost?

_Chuck is in New York for business, and there's nothing else to say._

* * *

 _Short, and probably not a satisfying ending. But I wanted Chuck to let him live his life._

* * *

 **Which is the ghost?**

Chuck was in New York for Carmichael Industries when he saw him.

All thoughts of computer engineering, of cyber security, or of annoying CIA and DEA spies trying to take over his life again – granted, Carina just wanted to spend some time with Sarah, but that didn't explain why Forrest was in Burbank too – all this left his brain immediately, as his eyes focused solely on the man walking down the street... and towards Chuck.

Instinctively – cowardly, perhaps, but Chuck'd pretend it was not to be seen – the nerd – and proud to be one – turned around, presenting his back to whoever came in his direction from where the man had been coming.

He just hoped neither his curly hair nor his gangly stature would give him away – not that the man had ever seen him with his hair cropped so short, but you never knew with that guy.

"Breathe, Chuck, breathe..."

...or not. Saying his name out loud might not be the best idea as the man was probably closing in, if he didn't want to be noticed and recognized.

Chuck took a deep breath – difficult not to breath, after all – and fumbled for his cellphone. He had to call Sarah, and tell her... Tell her what?

He stopped short of hitting the calling button, unsure of what to say to Sarah, of the words he should use to describe what he had just seen. Who he had just seen.

Chuck looked up from his phone as someone glared at him for standing in the way... and noticed that the man had passed by him, without even recognizing him. Perhaps having been totally focused on the cellphone had been a good thing, after all; Chuck was certain the man would have immediately noticed if someone had been observing him, and then Chuck'd have been made.

The dark brown hair, longer than they used to be when Chuck and the man had been at Stanford together, but shorter than they were the last time they had seen each other, were covered with a hat – a fedora. The only hat Chuck had ever seen the man wear had been a cowboy hat, for Halloween.

The hat made it easier to keep tracking the man, so Chuck wasn't going to complain.

It was as if the man wasn't even worried about being tailed, and it surprised Chuck. Last time he had seen him, the man – former friend, he reminded himself, his former friend – had been bordering on paranoid. How could he just walk down the streets of Manhattan like that, without a worry in the world, whistling of all things, today?

How could Bryce Larkin be walking down the street, to begin with?

Chuck followed his former friend, all the way to Federal Plaza – why there, of all places?

Bryce greeted three people who were discussing on the plaza, and from the cut of their suits, Chuck could already tell they were FBI. A military black man, a tough woman, and a no-nonsense-model-agent older man. The three greeted Bryce back - "Neal" and two "Caffrey" – and Bryce gave them each a cup of coffee, before turning to the federal building – as if he worked there.

Which he did, Chuck had to accept the fact, since the four people immediately headed inside, and Chuck was left standing stupidly on the sidewalk.

He felt like he should be angry – how could Bryce just go on with his life, never telling them he was alive, never... But he couldn't be. He couldn't feel the anger. Instead, Chuck felt... empty.

He headed back to his hotel, sat down on the bed, and searched "Neal Caffrey" on his laptop.

Dozens of articles, a wanted poster, and the records of a trial appeared immediately. Considering what he had seen earlier, Chuck guessed FBI CI. After all, Neal Caffrey had led a very... interesting life, both before and after Bryce's death; he would certainly be useful to the FBI... The details had Chuck wondering how, and why, Bryce had gone to such lengths to create a background story – he dismissed the fact that it looked too complete, too real, as he speed-read through the articles. Bryce had been real, and Neal Caffrey was not. He was certain of that.

Still...

In the end, he didn't call Sarah. No, he wasn't going to call Sarah. He wasn't going to tell her that Bryce was alive – was he, really? Chuck doubted that. Bryce Larkin was very much dead, and whoever this fake identity was? – was definitely more real, more alive than Bryce Larkin had been in the years before his death.

He had seen it, as Bryce had walked in the federal building. A real, bright smile.


End file.
